


The Prophecy

by FanGirl137



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angel Wings, Angelic Grace, Angst, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Children, Dean and Kids, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Future Benny, Future Dean Winchester, Future Sam Winchester, Holidays, Hunters & Hunting, Nephilim, Prophecy, Sam and Feelings, Soul Bond, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 53,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanGirl137/pseuds/FanGirl137
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prophecy brings together an abomination and a righteous man. Following the road that has been placed before them would be so easy, except for that pesky idea of free will. Then again, that road leads to everything Dean Winchester has ever wanted out of life and assumed was long ago out of his grasp. Now he has to choose which is more important, his free will or a prophecy that will just happen to give him everything he's ever wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Her Story

**Author's Note:**

> This story was rattling around my head for a while and is now pouring out of me. The Teen and up warning is only for language. The first couple of chapters are introducing the new character and giving backstory so bear with me until she meets up with Sam and Dean. I promise it will be worth it.
> 
> Definitions:  
> Mantilla - Lace mantle worn over a woman's head to church. Mandatory for married women in the Catholic Church until Vatican II in the 70's.  
> Curandera - Herbalist/healer or faith healer, sometimes both  
> Mija - Slang for "my daughter"

She was an abomination. She'd been told this many times. At age five she heard her mother tell her grandfather this and she had had to look it up in the dictionary. Definition: vile, shameful, detestable. She understood shame, even at such a young age, and the dictionary helped explain the rest. Later, in tears, begging to know if it was true, he had pulled her into his arms, telling her how precious and loved she was. But not once did he ever say her mother had been wrong, because of all the things her grandfather might be, he wasn't a liar.

There are other things she knows she is, and has had to come to terms with over the years. You see, she is a Nephilim, half human and half angel. A divine being from the legends of old, come to life in the here and now. Her story would be legendary too, if anyone alive actually knew it other than her and her mother and the man in her dreams.  

* * *

The man in her dreams had been coming to her at least once a week for years, since she'd turned seven. Green eyes and a whiskey voice had comforted her in her sleep many times, understanding her when no one else could. Of course back then he'd been a boy too, of about ten, with a shy grin and slumped shoulders and those same green eyes peeking up at her through his shaggy brown hair. Later he would become more confident and almost military in appearance, down to the haircut and army surplus gear.

That was ok, because she was military too. At age eight she was sent to a military boarding school, after years in a local Catholic school. She was taught not just the basics like most children, but also military history, tactics, combat and strategy. Discipline in all things was drilled into her from morning to night and by graduation she had outshone most of her classmates, convincing her teachers that she would be destined for great things in their armed forces. She had only to pick her desired path. 

What they didn't know was that her path had already been determined for her long ago, before her birth, even before her conception. She had been planned in a cold and calculating way by her father and watched over by him and his minions ever since. Although, he had gone quiet in the last few years, leaving his followers to do the dirty work. She supposed he'd grown tired of watching over her. Theirs wasn't what you'd call a loving father/daughter relationship, but then that's what you get when you pick the mother of your child like you're picking a brood mare with the right blood lines.

Her mother was a hardcore old school Catholic who still wore her lace  _mantilla_  to church every Sunday and spoke of Vatican II as if it were a dark mark upon the face of the church. The story she'd been told, after cornering her grandfather and refusing to back down on her thirteenth birthday, was that her mother was walking home from church one Sunday and was approached by a dark haired man. He claimed to be an angel, who wanted her to carry his child, a child who would someday help save the world and beget an heir that would guarantee the world's salvation.

Now most sane people would have called him a pervert or insane, but not Constancia. No, she claimed that not only did she believe him, but she recognized him, knew him, had seen him in her prayers. This was no mere angel, she had insisted, this was Michael, the Archangel, the warrior and protector, and he was asking for her help in saving the world. How could she not say yes?

Nine months later a baby girl was born. At the hospital, Constancia had been at a loss as to what to name her newborn when the nurse handed her the birth certificate. She had only referred to the child as "precious" and her "blessing," neither of which was good enough for a future savior of the Lord. And so she had written down the only name that seemed good enough and handed the paper to her father to give back to the nurse.

In the hallway her father looked at the birth certificate, wondering what she had written. Michael. His daughter had named the baby after her possibly non-existent Archangel father. Sighing, David knew he didn't want to saddle his only granddaughter with a boy's name, especially if this all turned out to be a delusion in Constancia's head and a human father popped up somewhere down the road. So, before turning it over to the charge nurse, he asked for a pen and made a few adjustments. As he walked away, the nurse pulled up her screen to assign the latest newborn her new social security number:  _Michaela Grace._

* * *

Today is Michaela's birthday, October 1, 2013, and she will be 31. A lot has happened in those 31 years. Her indoctrination into the knowledge that the things that go bump in the night are real. Her training, not just at school, but at home with her grandfather, a college professor turned hunter. Watching the passage of time wreak havoc on her mother's mind, especially when her father, the elusive Michael, refused to answer her prayers anymore. Having to sign Constancia's commitment papers, then escorting her to her rooms in upstate New York at a small cloister. Big donations open a lot of doors with few questions.

Mike knows that in some ways she was very lucky. Her grandfather had inherited a lot of money from his family, making them very comfortable, if not wealthy. They were old money, from an old family with an old name in Texas. People tend to give them a wide berth and a lot of leniency, perhaps because of the money or the name or both, which was good with some of the crazy things that happened in their big old house. 

But David was gone now, just a month ago, after trying to take on a nest of vamps by himself. "Foolish old man," she thought sadly. She'd told him to wait for her, she'd be down from school on the weekend and they could take care of them together. But he was never one for patience. She smiled fondly thinking of their last Skyped conversation.

"Just wait for me ok Grandpa? My last class is at 2:00 on Friday and I'm almost done grading. I can be home by 5:00. We'll take care of the vamps and be done in time for dinner so make a reservation at Diego's for 7:30," Mike told him.

"Aye  _Mija_ , stop treating me like this is my first hunt. I was taking down vamps before you were even thought of. There's only two and pretty young so they shouldn't be much to deal with. If I see that I'm over my head while I'm scouting tonight, I'll come back and wait for you, deal?" He said.

Mike sighed. "I guess so, since that's the best I'm going to get. Call me when you get home though, so I'm not worried all night."

David smiled, "Ok  _Mija_ , will do. Now get to class and teach those kids everything I taught you. Well, most of it. Talk to you tonight." 

But there was never a phone call. Friday came and she'd canceled her class to rush home and discover him in his private office, torn to pieces. She'd sat and cried and held him for hours before picking up her phone and calling Dr. Espinoza, the local coroner. The good doctor was an old friend who'd known David since they were boys and was one of the few who really knew what he did in his private time. Having a coroner on speed dial had always been handy.

The doctor had come over and helped her bundle him into the truck. Two hours later they were at his old hunting cabin on the Frio river, a one bedroom cottage really, stocked with enough firewood to make a funeral pyre. Another hour and they stood by silently as the flames took her grandfather back to ashes in a traditional hunter's funeral, properly salted and burned.

* * *

Mike hunted alone now, even though she knew it wasn't the smartest thing to do, but she'd been feeling reckless since losing David. Most hunters hunted in pairs or at least had a buddy in the area on speed dial and aware of their current target, but then she'd never been like other hunters.

Mike's grandfather, David Garcia, had been a Man of Letters in his youth, before moving back to his home state of Texas to teach at a local college. He hadn't been able to maintain a day to day membership, but he was a scholar and researcher who could speak multiple languages, so he was often called upon for assistance and advice on more difficult cases. This knowledge he would someday pass on to his daughter, then granddaughter, although their reactions had been very different.

Constancia's reaction to the knowledge of the existence that evil is real and roams the earth was to immediately head to church and try to pray away the danger. She was very much like her mother, David's wife Raquel, in that respect. However unlike Raquel, Constancia had hidden inside the church, wrapping a twisted quilt of religion and faith around her in the hopes that she could keep reality at bay forever. 

Raquel had been a pillar of faith, but her faith had given her courage and grounded her in the knowledge that with her faith she could assist her husband in protecting her family. She had been a  _curandera_ , a healer, well respected in their town and sought out for advice on everything from calming morning sickness to which candles were best to light for protection. Raquel was a force of nature at only five feet tall, having inherited the knowledge of her  _Mestizo_  ancestors. When she had died, much too young, she had taken pieces of their hearts with her, along with half the town. Her viewing and rosary had to be held at the largest church in town instead of the funeral home to accommodate the crowd, and even then there had been standing room only.

Telling a young Michaela had been very different for David. His thirteen-year-old granddaughter processed the information silently before cocking her head to one side. "You hunt down the evil that grandma protects us from with her candles and prayers?" she'd asked. He had nodded silently then smiled as she nodded back in comprehension and walked away. At the door she'd stopped and looked back at him, with a confidence in her eyes that belied her age, "Someday I will fight too, like you and my father."

He had sighed, knowing he should have never been worried about telling her. Mike was part Raquel and part Michael, both healer and warrior, practical and passionate. His only problem then would be to keep her from jumping into the fight too soon, even if she was more prepared at thirteen than he had been on his first hunt at twenty.

At 31 Mike was a veteran of many hunts now, having assisted with research at thirteen, scouting in the field by fifteen and engaging in simple hunts as her grandfather's wingman by sixteen. At eighteen she'd gone to college and began to hunt on her own. She didn't go after hunts that were too dangerous but she was always pushing her limits. Being a Nephilim had its advantages. Michael had passed on the ability to heal others and herself faster than regular humans. She had premonitions, usually through dreams, and she was an empath, able to feel other peoples emotions and sometimes even see their personalities through auras.

All of these were traits that came in handy. No to the guy who leered and tried to feel her up in a dream the night before she even met him. Over cheerful professor with an aura tinged with black? Not going there. Well, she might stakeout out his house just to make sure he's human first, but that's just being cautious. Healing herself after a rough hunt was a plus too since it cut down on the number of questions and raised eyebrows in class the next morning.

Unlike her grandfather, Mike was constantly surrounded by people on campus, in her dorm, and later in her little apartment. College was a lot more than the standard four years for her, but that was to be expected. She'd been groomed to not only train as a warrior but as a scholar and a healer, which meant needing a solid education. So first came a degree in military history, then a masters with a focus in local folklore and legends. A doctorate in Theology came last, with literal blood, sweat, and tears having been shed for it. Her doctoral dissertation had been a challenge, but it had pushed her and gotten her published before her diploma had even arrived in the mail.

Mike had been boxing up David's library for hours now, and was coming to the last cabinet. Enclosed in glass doors and warded with sigils, it contained his most precious, rare and valuable books and documents. This box would not go in the back of the truck with the rest of the books, but in the back seat of her truck, strapped down beneath the special blanket that her grandmother had made for her. On one of the shelves, she finally found it. The copy of her published dissertation that her grandfather had made her sign for him, beaming proudly at his little girl. 

She opened it and ran her fingertips across the title,  _Roman Catholicism and its Influence on Pagan Religions in the New World: The Origins of Voodoo, Curanderia, Santeria, and more._  Below that was the dedication to her grandparents, thanking them for all they had taught her. She remembered David teasing her about making the title as long as possible and she'd retorted that she could have just called it "Faith" but it reminded her too much of the George Michael song. He's laughed at her until tears came to his eyes and then they'd laughed together.

* * *

Sighing, Mike finished boxing the shelves, dropped her book on top and taped everything up. With a sharpie she marked it as "Books: rare" and then placed it by the front door. This was the last of it. The rest of the antiques, from dishes to furniture would stay with the house. She hadn't been wild about selling the family home but she knew she didn't want to stay in it either. There were too many memories here and it was just too big for one person. If she'd had a family things would be different she often thought, but would quickly put that out of her mind. No use going there when there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

Mike lucked out with the new owners too. As soon as the town's Historical Council found out it was being put on the market they jumped at the chance to buy it for their new offices. It was already designated as a historical landmark, and together with the new tenants, Mike knew the old place would be in good hands.

She finished loading the truck, took one last look at the house, memorizing its face, then turned and drove away without looking back. An hour later Mike arrived at David's cottage on the Frio River, deep in the Texas Hill Country. Nothing but limestone cliffs and scrub brush as far as you could see from the front porch and the lazy river from the back. This would be her new base of operations. 

**David's Hunting Cabin on the Frio River.**

The upstairs may have looked like her grandfather hunted nothing but deer, but the basement was another story. Secluded and private, the cottage sat on over a hundred acres and boasted top notch security, satellite, and hidden underground rooms for storage. Walking through the front porch and setting her bags down, Mike grinned at the hunting lodge decor. "The mounted deer heads are the first to go," She muttered. There was no one else to keep up pretenses for anymore since she was flying solo, at least for now. 


	2. Road Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was time for Michaela to look for her green eyed man and let whatever happens happen. And ok, maybe pickup a couple passengers along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you the boys would show up! Thanks for sticking around for them. They're pretty much in the entire rest of the story.
> 
> Definitions:  
> Yerberia: Herbalist shop  
> Paneria: Bakery

It had been six weeks since she'd moved into the cottage by the river. During that time Mike had moved her grandfather's books into the basement and organized them to her liking, mixing them with those that she'd acquired during her travels. The rare and delicate pieces went behind glass, a desk and computer on one side of the room, and a big overstuffed chair in the corner with a lamp to read by.

Upstairs, her bedroom now boasted Raquel's quilt on the white wrought iron bed, her personal book collection on the shelf, her clothes in the closet, and her guns in drawers under the bed. The kitchen was scrubbed and filled with her more modern appliances and the living room was now devoid of all previously alive stuffed animals.

Mike moved to the kitchen table, silently reviewing her packing list in her head. When she was satisfied she had everything, she grabbed her duffel bags and walked out. It was finally time to see if her premonitions were correct. To see if they would converge with the prophecy like David and Raquel had thought they would, or if she would end up like her mother, the helpless incubator for a stranger.

November in Texas was by turns beautiful fall breezes and crappy gray drizzle. The bipolar weather was one of the reasons she loved driving her truck, a Dodge Ram, all black and chrome. Nice enough to not raise eyebrows, new enough to not give her much trouble, and not flashy enough to demand attention. It was perfect for sliding under the radar. Well, in Texas a girl in a nice truck was no biggie. Hunts up north were a little different but most people just gave her a wide berth and pretended to ignore her.

**Toronado, Mike's Truck**

Mike was in no particular rush to get to her final destination, telling herself that taking her time was to help her unwind and not to avoid the inevitable. First was the stop at her favorite  _Yerberia_  in San Antonio, on the west side between a  _paneria_  and a little dress shop. After stocking up on candles and a few dried herbs that she didn't grow herself, and ok maybe some empanadas from next door, she was on her way again.

Three hours later she was pulling into her favorite Mexican restaurant in Killeen, right near the Army base. "This crazy traffic is going to kill me," She thought grumpily. "Could have been here an hour ago." Inside it was warm and smelled like fresh tamales, making her mouth water and her stomach rumble. Twenty minutes later she was deep into her second enchilada, beef with no onions  _por favor_ , when she began to notice the increasingly loud and annoying conversation nearby.

"But honey, I've become attached to them. They're like my family when you're deployed," The woman of about twenty whimpered.

"I'm sorry, but we can't take them. I PCS to Germany in two weeks and we can't take the damn dogs overseas with us. So you get to pick, me or the dogs? Although I don't see them supporting your shopping habit," He muttered. 

Crew cut, military demeanor, cocky attitude; Mike knew the type well. Texas had more than its fair share of military bases and these over compensating pricks were a dime a dozen. It was obvious where this conversation was headed, since Mike doubted the girl had any other source of income to support herself and would need to follow the money, so to speak, even if it meant leaving her beloved dogs behind and traipsing halfway around the world.

The girl sighed, "Ok, fine. You win. I'll start calling around to my friends to see who can take them in." Her face went from sad resignation to confusion when she saw the man across from her shake his head. "What?" She asked.

"You have to get rid of them today. I want to go visit my family before I move overseas for two frickin years and you can't take the dogs with you," He stated gruffly. "Figure it out. I don't care what you do with them. I gotta get back, but they better be gone when I get home." The guy stood, tossed some money on the table and left quickly, leaving behind a sniffling wife and a half eaten lunch.

Mike had been listening intently as she finished her plate and ordered some tamales and queso for the road. Hey, fast food sucked and a girl's gotta eat right? Standing and dropping some cash on the table for her food and tip, she grabbed the paper bag with her to go order and walked over to the table. She wasn't sure what to say exactly, but when the girl looked up at her with teary eyes, she said the only thing she could, "I'll take them."

* * *

Following the girl back to her apartment in her truck, Mike prayed that she hadn't gotten herself a couple of chihuahuas because she'd forgotten to ask.   The girl had been so grateful, jumping up and giving her a hug and a thank you, muttering apologies and excuses for her pain in the ass husband. Pulling up to Nora-the-military-wife's house, as Mike now thought of her, she got out and pulled open the truck's back door. Thank goodness she'd decided on a quad cab she thought.

Barks echoed through the breezeway of the complex as Mike turned to look at her two new traveling companions. She needn't have worried about lap dogs. These were big and boisterous, a German Shepherd and a blonde Lab, the type that would have kept Nora feeling safe on all those nights with a husband off fighting who knew where.

"Ok, I already fed them this morning. These are a couple blankets they like to sleep on and the rest of the dog food. I won't be needing it anymore I guess," she said sadly, handing over their leashes. Mike nodded, spreading the blankets over the back seat and coaxing the dogs in. Both jumped in eagerly with a command of "Up!" and settled into their familiar smelling blankets.

"Thank you Michaela," Nora said shyly. "I know you'll take good care of them. I can tell."

Mike smiled back and assured her she would, tossing the dog food into the back of the truck and shutting the hard top. With a wave, and a promise to give them a good home, she was on her way again, this time with two furry travel companions. Crap and she'd forgotten to ask Nora their names!

After a quick Google search on her phone, Mike pulled into a PetSmart for supplies. Grabbing the dog's leashes, they strode into the store and grabbed a basket. She figured the dog food she had gotten from Nora would hold them til Kansas, but she was going to need other stuff. Dog bowls first, the heavy duty metal kind, then some treats, a brush for their fur and new harnesses and leashes. No way was she dressing her boys in the lavender and powder blue ones she'd been given.

Back in the truck she'd given them water and loaded their new gear in the back. Then it was time for a change of accessories. The German Shepherd, with big intelligent chocolate brown eyes and an arrogant almost military air got her attention first. His harness and leash would be black since bright colors just didn't seem right and a chain just reminded her of a junkyard dog. Mike and the big dog eyed each other warily. Whatever his new name would be it needed to be worthy of his personality.

It had always been tradition in her family to name their pets after alcoholic beverages, although she wasn't sure why. Nobody in her family was what could be considered a major drinker, although they all enjoyed a few now and then. Her grandfather had had an orange tabby named Corona and for years Raquel had had a stupid little Chihuahua named Margarita. She was going to have to do better than that. "Ok buddy," She said. "I refuse to saddle you with a stupid name. You're going to be Captain. As in Captain Morgan." The dog looked at her curiously, cocking his head to the side. 

"And you," She said, looking at his partner in crime, a blonde Lab with a goofy grin and golden eyes. "You're going to be Crown Royal. I'll call you Royal. And here, your leash and harness are red. Blech! No doggy kisses!" She muttered pushing him off with a grin. He let his tongue hang out and gave a happy dog smile and Michaela sighed inwardly, climbing into the truck and accelerating back onto I-35N. She was already whipped.

* * *

That night was spent at a campground outside of Oklahoma City. The two motels she had stopped at didn't allow pets so she'd given up and found the nearest state park. Setting up her tent didn't take much time with her experience, and it wasn't long before she was sitting back in her camp chair with her dinner. The dogs had their dinner as well, then flopped down next to Mike's chair after giving up on getting scraps out of her.

**Captain and Royal playing tug of war at the campground.**

A half hour later the truck was locked up and Mike was snuggled into her sleeping bag, grateful that it was chilly but not too cold since it was still too early in the season for snow. Ten minutes after that, the whimpering started and kept getting steadily louder as she stared at the ceiling of her tent. Sighing, she gave up and unzipped the tent to let the dogs in. They immediately bounded in and made themselves comfortable, half on top of her. Once again staring at the ceiling, she dozed off quickly this time, to the sound of Royal and Captain snuffling beside her. I am so whipped she thought, for the second time that day.

The trio was back on the road bright and early, stowing gear and having breakfast in thirty minutes flat. It wouldn't take them long to get to their final destination now and Mike's nerves kept getting worse so she was grateful when Royal jumped into the passenger seat, laying his head in her lap. She absentmindedly petted his fur as she drove, allowing it to calm her. 

By that afternoon, they'd arrived in Lebanon, KS, current home of the green-eyed man she was searching for. First things first though, she needed to find a place to eat and walk the dogs, then a place to stay for the night. After a short drive around town, Mike pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant boasting homestyle cooking that happened to have an open field next door.

Hooking their leashes, she led Royal and Captain for a walk through the field to do their business, then set them up with food and water next to the truck, tying their leashes to the bumper. Last thing Mike needed was for them to run off after a squirrel or something. While she waited, she popped the truck's hood and started checking the engine's fluids. Seeing as she barely topped out at 5'4", reaching everything in the engine took some doing. Using the front tire as a ladder she stepped first on the rim, then the top of the tire itself to haul herself up. Damn, but I must be a sight with my ass in the air she thought. 

Which is exactly what the Winchester brothers saw as they walked out of the restaurant a minute later, although each of their views was a little skewed based on their own preferences. Sam saw a woman working on the engine of a black truck with two really nice dogs keeping watch. His first thought was if she needed help and then if she would let him play with the dogs. Dean on the other hand thought, in order: Nice ass. And she's blonde. Really nice truck. Really nice ass. She can fix an engine? Sweet. Dammit she has dogs.

Sam nudged Dean with his elbow. "Dean, maybe we should go see if she needs help," he said.

"Huh?" Dean replied, still focusing on the view.

Sam sighed, realizing it was too late, his brother was already thinking with the wrong head. Looking down at Dean's hands, he realized his brother had forgotten his to go order. "Dean you forgot your pie," he said.

"What? Pie? Shit," Dean muttered, heading back into the restaurant to rescue his order.

Worked every time, Sam thought, walking over to the young woman. "Excuse me, miss?" Sam called. "Do you need some help?"

She jumped, smacking the back of her head on the hood of the truck. "Ouch!" She moaned, rubbing her head and climbing down. "Son of a bitch, that hurt."

Sam cringed at the loud thump then smiled behind his hand. She sounded a lot like Dean when he did the same thing. "You ok?" He asked.

Mike turned around to greet the stranger that had surprised her and looked up at him. And up and a up. Damn he was tall. She took him in slowly, from the boots and jeans to the plaid shirt draped over a faded Stanford tee, and long shaggy hair before resting her vivid bottle green eyes on his hazel ones.

He smiled a little shyly, considering his height, and apologized to Mike for scaring her. Again he offered assistance but she just shrugged it off, telling him she was just checking the truck's fluids, while she slammed the hood shut. His gaze then focused on her dogs, both of whom had jumped up to attention when he'd come near, wary of Sam's intention.

"You like dogs?" she asked.

"Yeah, but my brother isn't exactly crazy about them so I've never been able to have one. We work together, and usually use his car," he clarified.

Mike nodded in understanding, walking over to her boys to introduce them to him. Sam fell to his knees, petting them and chatting with her about how great they were. Five minutes later Dean walked out to find Sam leaning against the Impala and the truck driving away.

"Dude! Where'd she go?" Dean asked him.

Sam smiled, "I told her about another place to get better homestyle food a couple streets over."

Dean growled at him, "You sent her away? What's wrong with this place?"

"Come on Dean," Sam laughed. "The only reason you come here is for the pie. The food is mediocre at best. She deserved better."

Dean dropped the pie into the back seat before glaring at Sam over the roof of the Impala. "Dude. You totally cockblocked me, didn't you? You got to talk to her then got rid of her before I could come back and totally charm her and make her forget all about you and your puppy dog eyes," he whined.

Sam just laughed as he got into the car. "If that's what you want to think Dean. Sure," he said.

Dean grumbled under his breath as he started the car and headed back to the bunker, "Dammit Sammy! You smell like dog."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for any and all comments. As I said before this is my first fanfic so any advice or encouragement is greatly appreciated.


	3. Meet cute, part ugly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Dean finally meet and the story tumbles out along with the prophecy. Neither is received exactly as she had hoped.

Michaela Grace Garcia, you are a chickenshit. That was the phrase rolling around in her head at ten o'clock that night. She'd spent the rest of the afternoon eating then finding a pet friendly motel and getting settled. Her intention had been to check in, drop off the dogs and then go in search of her target. Instead she'd grabbed a hot shower, pulled on an old tank top and pajama pants, and indulged in a couple glasses of Jack and Coke. 

Two hours of bad tv later, the dogs had settled into one queen bed with only minor resistance and she'd collapsed into the other. She knew she was only avoiding the inevitable, but hey what was one more night? He could wait. 

>  
> 
> _Michaela was standing on a mountain cliff made of sandstone in the middle of the desert, the sun just setting in the distance. She was disoriented at first, until she heard his voice. That gravelly voice that haunted her day and night, both in her dreams and out. Turning, she gazed on the green eyed man, taking in his tired eyes and scruffy two day old beard. Walking closer, he opened his arms and she melted into them._
> 
> _"I've missed you," she whispered, fighting back tears, "Where've you been?" Six weeks was the longest they'd ever gone without meeting in her dreams. The last time was the night her grandfather had died._
> 
>   
>    _He gulped back his own emotions._ _"Right here baby. I'm right here. I don't know why it's been so long. I just kept hoping that nothing had happened to you," he choked out, holding her tight._
> 
> _Mike knew this was a dream, but she also knew that what she told him now, he would most likely remember when they finally met in real life. Everything she had ever told him he had remembered from dream to dream, so she had to take that chance._
> 
> _"We won't have to be apart anymore. Soon we'll be able to be together everyday, without the need for dreams," she told him._
> 
> _He looked at her curiously. "What do you mean?" he asked._
> 
> _You told me once where you lived, remember?" she asked. "In Lebanon, KS. I'm here in town. I want to meet you in person. We talked about this once, and I know it's been a long time, but I really want to do this. If you don't I'll understand, just tell me and I'll leave," she rushed out in one breath._
> 
> _He stared down at her, his hands flexing and unflexing against her back. "Yes," he said quietly. "Yes, of course I want to meet! How? When?"_
> 
> _She smiled up at him, letting out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "The city park," she said. "There are benches on the north side that overlook a dog park. I'll be waiting there at two tomorrow afternoon."_
> 
> _He nodded in understanding. "I'll be there," he said, holding her close._
> 
> _Going up on her toes, she whispered into his ear, "You'll know me when you hear these words: Royal. Captain. Remember them and you'll find me.'"_
> 
> _Mike turned in his arms, and together they watched the end of the rosy pink and orange desert sunset. Not for the first time, Mike wondered what it was about him and the desert. There had to be a story there._

* * *

 

Dean awoke the next morning and stared groggily at his phone. 10:17 it read, once he could focus. Groaning, he rolled back over, hoping to go back to sleep. One too many beers last night had given him the beginnings of a hangover, not that he would admit it. He would never acknowledge that he was getting too old for long nights demolishing a case of beer with his brother.

He sat up in bed suddenly, remembering his dream from the night before. Dean's golden girl had been visiting him in his dreams since he was about ten. He'd tried to tell his father about her once but he'd dismissed it as an imaginary friend and scolded him about making things up when he should be focused on taking care of Sammy. Dean had clammed up after that, never mentioning her to John again. The last thing he needed was for his father to think there was something wrong with him or that he was possessed. 

Sammy knew about her though. He'd comforted Dean more than once after a dream when they were little, when he'd worried that she was a ghost haunting him or worse. Even at six, Sam had been able to comfort him, reasoning that if she'd wanted to hurt him, she probably would have already. That had eased his mind some, and over time he'd come to welcome her visits. She became someone who he could talk to about what he was thinking and feeling without worry of being judged. 

Dean even told her about being a hunter, waiting for her to freak out, but she never did. In fact, she'd understood completely, even offering advice on some cases when they were older. At thirteen, she'd leaned over and given him his first kiss, and at sixteen they made it to second base. He had his girlfriends in real life, but his time with her in his dreams had always been special.

Rubbing his hands over his eyes, Dean rolled out of bed and headed for the kitchen, calculating that he had a little over three hours to meet her. That should give him enough time to convince Sammy that he was not insane for wanting to go to a dog park to meet his imaginary dream girl. And what the hell was a royal captain?

It was a quarter to two and Mike had already spent the last fifteen minutes playing fetch with the dogs and the ball they'd picked up on the way to the park. She'd gotten a few weird glances from the other dog owners, but they'd mostly ignored her. 

"Act like they've never seen a blonde Hispanic chick driving a truck with two dogs in it," she grumbled. Michaela hadn't sat down on the bench yet, wanting to wait and see if anyone showed up first. Glancing at her phone, she saw that it was now five til two and there was still no sign of her green eyed man. She sighed, shoving the phone back into the pocket of her hoodie and throwing the ball for Royal again. Captain had already had enough of their game and was refusing to budge from his spot at her feet.

Another fifteen minutes passed before she gave up. "Alright boys, time to go home," she said, gathering up their stuff and shoving it into her messenger bag. Slinging it over her shoulder, she reattached their leashes and headed back towards the parking lot. As she passed the bench they were supposed to have met at she couldn't help but sigh sadly. Dammit! She really thought that telling him in the dream would work. There hadn't been a plan B, but she guessed now she'd have to figure one out. 

Lost in her thoughts, she missed the dogs perking up their ears suddenly. So when they bolted from her it was easy enough for them to rip their leashes from her hands. Startled, she ran after them, calling their names.

"Captain! Royal! Heel! Stop! Get back here dammit!" she yelled desperately.

Up ahead were two men, one of them a virtual giant with shaggy hair who dropped to his knees before her dogs. "Hey guys!" he said, grinning, "What are you doing here? Where's your owner?"

Mike ran up, panting, "Bad dogs! Bad! Thank you so much for stopping them. I can't believe they ran off like that." She grinned down at the kneeling man that she'd met the day before.

Sam smiled back,"Hey it's ok. No problem. I'm just glad they recognized me enough to let me stop them. Sorry, I didn't catch your name yesterday."

"It's Michaela. Call me Mike. And this is Captain," she said pointing at the German Shepherd, "And the one drooling all over you is Royal."

"Well I'm Sam. Oh, and this is my brother Dean," he said, pointing over his shoulder and standing up again.

Mike took her attention away from Sam and her boys to shake hands with the other man and froze. It was him, the green eyed man, down to the scruffy face and ancient army jacket. She licked her lips nervously and prayed he recognized her, waiting to gauge his reaction before she said anything. Dean she thought. Her green eyed man's name was Dean.

Dean couldn't breathe. It was her, his golden girl, and she'd said those magic words that he hadn't quite understood. When they'd gotten stuck in traffic, he'd been furious, arriving almost fifteen minutes late. Convinced he'd missed her, missed his chance, he'd told Sam he didn't even want to get out of the car, just go home so he could wallow in his misery. But Sammy had insisted, dragging his ass towards the bench and demanding that they at least try since he'd been so nice as to humor Dean and come with him to meet his imaginary friend.

Mike heard him mumble something. "What?" she asked.

"Royal captain," he said again. "You told me to remember royal captain."

Sam's mouth dropped open. This was her? Dean's dream girl?

Mike's mouth went dry before breaking into a big smile. "Yeah, I did. Didn't think you remembered sunshine. Especially since you didn't show up on time."

Dean's face broke into a grin. Damn, he always did love that accent. "You called me sunshine," he said, running his damp palms on his jeans, "You haven't called me that in a long time."

She grinned back at him, ducking her head and blushing. Then suddenly a hand was grabbing hers and pulling her towards him, arms wrapping around her like they had so many times in her dreams. Then finally, a real kiss. Not just in her subconscious, but real, with her real, live, living, breathing, green eyed man. And damn could that man kiss.

Sam looked out across the grass towards the dog park, then towards the parking lot and finally down to where the Captain and Royal sat at his feet, watching their owner make out with his brother. As long as he didn't have to watch them, it was ok. Hearing them was bad enough. After what felt like way too long, he coughed, trying to get their attention. It didn't work. After the third, much louder cough they finally broke apart, blushing furiously and never letting go of each others hands.

"Well since it's obvious you two have, umm, some catching up to do, why don't we get out of here before you get arrested for public indecency?" Sam said, grinning.

Dean nodded, taking her bag from her and slinging it over his left shoulder and grabbing her hand with his right. "Come on," he said, "We don't live far from here. I want you to see everything I've been telling you about."

Sam raised his brows, about to say something about how they don't know her well enough to let her into the bunker, but he held his tongue. If mister "never trust anybody" was ok with letting her into their sanctuary, then he was ok with it too. For now.

 

* * *

 

"What prophecy?" Dean asked, "What are you talking about?"

Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair. The evening had been going reasonably well up to this point. They'd brought Michaela and "her boys" as she called them back to the bunker, parking her truck in the garage next to Baby. She'd readily agreed to Sam's demand of passing a few tests before she entered the main bunker, sipping holy water and nicking her arm with a silver blade without incident. He didn't care that Dean had tried to protest or that he'd glared at him the entire time. 

Mike had understood Sam's wariness, laying her hand on Dean's arm and telling him she didn't mind him being cautious considering they'd just met. After a tour of the facilities, she dropped her stuff in a spare bedroom and joined the brothers in the kitchen, offering to help with dinner. They'd insisted she sit, as she was a guest, and they'd spent the next few hours talking about everything and anything. 

Dinner was long since finished, but they couldn't seem to pry themselves from the table. Sam had regaled her with stories about Dean when they were kids, making his brother blush and smack his head against the table in embarrassment, swearing Sam would be killed in his sleep before dawn.

Mike had just laughed, partly at the story and partly at Dean's embarrassment. She'd never had siblings growing up, but she'd heard enough stories from her green eyed man about his beloved brother to know they were inseparable. In person it was undeniable, the way they interacted with each other, as if it was second nature. 

Which is how they'd gotten here, with Dean looking at her warily and Sam looking smug, as if he'd known she was too good to be true. It was over dessert, the three of them devouring the last of yesterday's pie, that Mike began telling them her story. She told them about Constancia and her angel, about David and Raquel, about her training and education. The brothers had sat in silence, wrapped up in her story, only stopping her occasionally to ask random questions. Finally she'd gotten to the reason she was there. 

"When my father came to my mother the first time, she was given a prophecy," she told them. "She was told she would bear a female child who would someday help save the world. That she would come together with a worthy male of his choosing, a righteous man, and beget an heir that would guarantee the world's salvation." 

The brothers shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Dean had been referred to as the righteous man more than once. He loved her, even if he couldn't admit it aloud, but loving her in person was something else entirely compared to loving someone in a dream.

"So, now what?" Dean asked. "We're just supposed to hook up and have a kid? Just like that? I don't know about you but I really don't like the idea that some dick angel gets to decide my future without my input."

Mike smiled sadly. "I know Dean. I've struggled with this for years. The idea of being bred for the sole purpose of becoming a stranger's broodmare didn't exactly sit well with me either. I'm a strong, modern, educated woman of the twenty-first century. I'm not Constancia, willing to take some 'dick angel's' word for it that all I'm good for is to be an incubator for a kid who's supposed to save the world. I don't like being saddled with that kind of baggage and I don't know if I want to saddle some future kid with that either," she stated vehemently, getting more and more upset.

Dean jumped up from the table and paced the floor, running his fingers through his hair before stopping and looking at her again. "Why me then?" he demanded, "How do you know it's me? Are you sure?"

She looked at him, arms crossed, shoulders back, ready to do battle with her. "I was told the righteous man would be my soul mate. That together we would be unstoppable, greater than the sum of our parts. You are that man Dean," Mike said, walking around the table to stand before him. "Why else would we have connected in our dreams like we did? Don't you feel it?"

Dean shook his head, trying to clear his mind, refusing to believe her assertions. He was a solid believer in free will, and the idea that his mate had been chosen for him when he was three really didn't sit well. Plus there was the idea that his kid was supposed to save the world. He and Sammy had been raised in the hunter's life and look how they turned out. Yeah, they'd saved the world a couple times, but they'd also each died more than once, lost most of their family and friends in various gruesome ways, and let's not even get started on their personal relationship issues. No way was he putting a kid through that, not on his watch.

"Look," he said, staring at her intently, trying not to notice how her green eyes just matched his perfectly, "You want to stay and hunt with us, I'm ok with that. I know you don't have anyone else to hunt with and you sound like you know what you're doing. You want to hookup and have some fun, I'm more than fine with that too. Just don't expect happily ever after because I don't do that. Understand there will be no forever. No kids. No fulfillment of prophecies by dick angels. Got it?"

Michaela stared at him, tears running down her face. Of all the reactions she'd thought she'd get, this wasn't one of them. She'd been prepared for shock, disbelief, maybe even denial, but not a flat refusal. It wasn't that he didn't believe he could be her soul mate, she could tell he realized it was a possibility, it was just that he didn't want to have anything to do with her. 

Dean wasn't denying the prophecy, he was refusing her, and as crazy as it sounded, she was wounded by his decision. She'd offered herself up and had been cast aside. Taking a deep breath, Mike turned and gathered her dirty dishes, dropping them in the sink before grabbing her phone and messenger bag. Stopping at the doorway, she looked back at him, head cocked to the side.

"I will stay Dean, if that's ok with Sam too," she said, looking to him for approval. Sam nodded his head quickly in assent. She nodded in return, then looked back at his brother. "As far as random hookups go though, that won't be happening. You see, like angels, Nephilim mate for life. So if you don't want me forever, you don't get me at all," Mike said, tossing her hair back over her shoulder and walking out, looking for all the world like a queen addressing her subjects then dismissing them.

Michaela walked out of the kitchen and headed for her bedroom, whistling for Royal and Captain who had parked themselves on the rug in the library after dinner. An hour later she was curled around her pillow with her dogs huddled close, trying to comfort her in her misery. In a few minutes she'd lost her soul mate and the possibility of children. Oh she knew it was possible to meet someone else and fall in love and have children, but it would never be as strong and as true as it would have been with Dean. And the prophesied child would never come to pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for any and all feedback!


	4. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is not happy about these new developments and hits the road solo, leaving Sam to deal with Mike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitions: 
> 
> Toronado - Spanish for tornado; the name of Zorro's horse from the old tv show and movies.

Sam sat in the library, sipping on his whiskey and coke, watching Dean down his third while he paced back and forth across the old rug. He hadn't been so sure about Michaela at first, barely knowing anything about her, but he'd relaxed when she'd passed the holy water and knife tests and walked across the devil's trap beneath the rug without a problem. After this evening he'd started to warm to her, realizing what had drawn his brother to her for all those years in his dreams.

She wasn't hot or even cute. Some would call her pretty he supposed, although she wasn't his type, but he'd heard Dean refer to her as beautiful more than once. Sam conceded she was attractive, blonde and green eyed, with full lips and plenty of curves. She was short, a full foot shorter than him, but not thin or petite. No, Michaela was strong and solid, almost stocky, reminding him of the warrior that she'd been trained to be. A warrior queen, like an Amazon Sam thought, then quickly corrected himself. Dean had tangled with an Amazon before and they both remembered how that had turned out.

"This is bullshit Sammy," Dean ground out, interrupting Sam's thoughts. "What the hell gives her the right to come in here and demand I step up and toe the line to fulfill some prophecy? Maybe I had my own plans, you know? Maybe I already have someone."

Sam looked at him and arched a brow, conveying his best "you're kidding right?" look.

"Ok fine. Maybe I don't want to get married and have kids and have them save the world all over again, she ever think of that?" he yelled, getting louder as he went.

"Dean," Sam said calmly, "She wasn't demanding anything. She told you about the prophecy, about what she was told and what was supposed to happen. Did you ever stop to think that maybe she's stuck as much as you are? Sorry, but Mike didn't look like the type to just lie down and accept someone else making decisions for her, even if it is her angel father."

Dean growled at him, throwing his best bitch face imitation at his brother, but he knew he was right. Michaela had told him as much in the kitchen. This wasn't her choice or her doing. It was that dick angel father of hers, and he wasn't going to just stand there and allow himself to be led around without a say in it. His life might suck sometimes, ok a lot of the time, but dammit it was his life based on his choices.

"Dean," Sam said quietly, "What about the other part?" His brother looked at him questioningly. "She's your soul mate Dean. You can't just walk away from that, prophecy or no prophecy."

Dean flinched. He'd been thinking about that too. He was attracted to her, that was obvious, but she was still partially a dream in his head. Trying to move her into the "living breathing woman in front of you" category was going to take time. And let's not forget that commitment wasn't exactly his forte. Actually, running from commitment was something he did pretty damn well, not that he was exactly proud of it,, but with his lifestyle it tended to be a necessity. At least that's what he told himself.

"I need time to think," Dean said to his brother, "I should never have asked her to stay. Some space would have been better."

Sam watched him warily. He knew his brother way too well, and Dean was showing all the signs of bailing and leaving him with his mess to clean up.

"Sammy, what happened with that haunting over in Topeka?" Dean asked, "Simple salt and burn right?"

Nodding, Sam booted up his laptop to print out the details and a map to the haunted house. He knew exactly what was coming next.

"Ok, I'm gonna head out and take care of it. Why don't you stay here with... her," Dean said. "I can handle this one on my own. Shouldn't take more than a couple days from what you told me."

A half hour later Sam was listening to the Impala growl to life and drive out of the garage. He knew Dean just needed time, that he'd come to his senses, but he was just hoping it didn't take too long. Normally he'd have insisted on going but Dean would have just fought him on it so he let it go. It was a basic hunt so he should have plenty of thinking time Sam thought.

 

* * *

 

Mike seemed like a nice girl, but if he was going to be here with her alone for the next couple days, he might as well pick her brain about the prophecy. Maybe they could find a loophole or something.

Sunday night found Sam and Michaela exhausted and feeling damn near brain dead from research. And still after two solid days they'd found nothing. Zero. Nada. And it certainly wasn't for lack of trying.

"Ok, that's it,"  Sam said. "I need a break. How about we go out for dinner and get some fresh air?"

Michaela nodded in agreement, "Yeah I'm with you. Throw in a beer and you got a deal."

Sam smiled and nodded, and fifteen minutes later they were in her truck heading to the nearest BBQ joint where the beer was cold and ribs were spicy, just the way he liked it. Maybe they'd bring back some peach cobbler for Dean. It was close enough to pie he thought, then frowned. His brother had been due back hours ago but they hadn't heard anything from him yet. He was probably just taking his sweet time, hoping he'd show up after they had gone to bed. Oh well, he was a big boy and it was too soon to worry yet.

They were halfway through a rack of ribs and on their second beers when Sam thought to ask about Mike's mode of transportation. "So why a truck?" he asked, "Because of the dogs?"

"No. Actually I just got the dogs a few days ago," she said, wiping BBQ sauce off her fingers and telling him the story of Nora and her jackass hubby. How she named them got a laugh too. 

"I'm glad you stepped up and got them. You're right. What a jackass," he growled. Sam didn't want to think about where Royal and Captain could have ended up. "So the truck was just a coincidence?"

Mike nodded, "Yeah pretty much. Where I'm from, most people have at least one truck in the family, and since I'm usually on my own I have to be able to fend for myself. Which means if I have to tow something or umm... transport something? Someone? I have it handled without having to ask for help. You know?"

Sam nodded in understanding. It helped her stay independent, especially since she didn't have a hunting partner to rely on. Or family for that matter, he thought, frowning to himself. She may be Nephilim, but she was also his almost-sort-of-kind-of-sister-in-law, considering the whole soul-mate thing. Well then, he was just going to have to look out for her until Dean got his head out of his ass. She was family now, at least in his mind. Hell, they'd considered people family for a lot less.

"Oh, and I call her Tory," she said. Sam looked at her confused. Laughing, Mike clarified, "My truck. I named her Toronado after Zorro's black stallion, so I call her Tory."

His look of confusion morphed into one of understanding, then laughter. "Zorro's horse? Really?" he said.

"Hey, it was better than naming her after Dale Rogers' horse, Buttermilk," Mike said, defending her choice. "Most badass horses are male and have male names. Buttermilk was too girly and Silver didn't match, but Toronado was just right," she smiled.

Two hours and several beers later, Michaela and Sam stumbled home to two sets of sad puppy eyes waiting patiently for them to come home, and a note stuck to the door with duct tape. What the hell, Sam thought, trying to focus long enough to read the note. Sighing, he yanked it down and turned to Mike, running his fingers through his hair.

"Looks like Dean got word of another hunt in Missouri. He just stopped long enough to grab some clean clothes and more supplies," Sam muttered under his breath. Dammit! Once again he was here dealing with his brother's mess after he'd bailed. But if Sam thought Mike was going to cry or wail or even bitch about his commitment-phobic brother, he was dead wrong. She just nodded in understanding and went into the kitchen to put away the cobbler. Peach cobbler made a hell of a midnight snack. Or breakfast, in a pinch.

Coming back she yawned and told him she was going to bed then headed to her room. Calling to the dogs, they got up and followed behind dutifully.

"Oh and Sam?" she called from the hallway, "Thanks for dinner. And the beer. Especially the beer."

Sam grinned to himself, yelled out a quick "you're very welcome" then headed to his room. Damn but she was growing on him. Stupid brothers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Would love some feedback.


	5. An Old Fashioned Family Thanksgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Mike decide to have a little Thanksgiving gathering, but nothing is going right. Dean's a no show, Charlie is still in Oz with Dorothy, and Garth shows up with two surprise guests in tow. Hopefully, Sam can keep Mike from killing them before dessert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitions:
> 
> Chorizo - Mexican sausage, ground up and mixed with spices. When scrambled with eggs, it turns the eggs kind of an orange/red. Very yummy in a warm flour tortilla for breakfast.
> 
> Toronado - Spanish for tornado; the name of Zorro's horse from the old tv show and movies.

Another week had passed, and no Dean. Sam had gotten a quick text about doing recon on a possible vamp nest in Nebraska, but nothing more. And he wasn't answering his phone, no matter how many bitchy voicemails he got.

"Hey Sam, I made dinner if you're hungry," Mike called from the kitchen. Getting up from his computer, Sam followed her to the table and dug into enchiladas with all the trimmings. Oh my God, could she cook. He wanted to keep her around just for that.

Michaela cleared her throat, getting Sam's attention. "I was wondering, umm, Thanksgiving is in a couple days. Do you guys celebrate at all? I was thinking about getting a little turkey and making some dressing and maybe a pie, but I don't want to just take over so I thought I'd ask first," she said.

Sam hadn't even realized the holiday was that close. He and Dean rarely celebrated any holidays, but usually because they were in a random hotel somewhere and had no one to celebrate with. Things were different now. Swallowing, Sam shook his head and looked at her thoughtfully. 

"No, you're not taking over. Honestly, I had just forgotten about it. We usually just ignore holidays, but now that we have the bunker, things have been changing. Plus you're here now," he said, smiling.

Mike ducked her head and grinned. She'd taken a liking to Sam right away. He was a giant nerd, just like Dean had said, and a bookworm, which meant they never ran out of things to talk about. Dean might not be here, the big jerk (Sam was right about that part), but that didn't mean they couldn't celebrate their little family, right?

"Is there anyone else you'd like to invite?" she asked.

"Well, there's Garth, he's another hunter, and he's kind of on his own a lot so I could see if he's around. And Charlie. She's a computer genius we met on a hunt. She's been in Oz for the last few months, but I can check and see if she's back yet. I'm not much of a cook, but I can help out. And I set a mean table," Sam grinned.

"Sounds good," she laughed, "And I'm holding you to that offer for help. Why don't you go make some calls while I start planning. I'm going to need to go to the store later." Four wasn't a bad number she thought, pulling out paper and pen to write up her grocery list. Mike wasn't going to touch the Oz comment. She'd ask later. 

Sighing, she wondered if she should include Dean, since they had no idea if he was going to show up or not. After a moment, she crossed off four across the top of her list and replaced it with five. Better to be safe than sorry she thought. And leftovers were always welcome if he didn't show.

 

* * *

 

Michaela was up bright and early Thanksgiving morning, knowing she had a lot to do. A half hour later Sam slumped into a chair in the kitchen, reaching for the cup of coffee that was already cooling as it waited for him. Maybe staying up to read Game of Thrones for an extra hour (which turned into three) wasn't the best idea he'd ever had. He'd overslept and found Mike already sliding the extra large turkey into the oven. 

"I'm sorry," Sam said, sheepishly, "I overslept."

Mike just laughed and told him to get to making breakfast so she could get started on the sides. He grinned and nodded then set to work making scrambled eggs with chorizo and heating up some flour tortillas. She had introduced him to chorizo and egg breakfast tacos on the morning after their beer and BBQ night, and he considered it his new favorite breakfast. The fact that it was super easy to make was just a bonus.

Two hours later the first guests showed up, Garth with two surprise guests in tow. Sam hadn't been able to track down Charlie, guessing she was probably still on her adventure with Dorothy in Oz, and Dean still wasn't answering his phone. Dinner had jumped back up in numbers after Garth RSVP'd for himself +2. Sam had been assured the guests were well vetted and trustworthy so he'd agreed. Besides, the new guests were bringing the pies and sweet potatoes, leaving Michaela with a lot less to do. Party of five it would be he thought grinning, wiping his hands on a towel as he went to answer the door.

Five seconds later, Sam wasn't grinning anymore after coming face to face with Garth and his guests, Benny and his Benny's great-granddaughter Elizabeth. 

 

* * *

 

Throwing the dish towel over his shoulder, Sam scowled at the three of them and twitched his fingers, itching for his knife that was currently tucked away in his room. Dammit, he should have never let his guard down he thought, to hell with it being a holiday.

"Garth, what the hell is this?" Sam demanded, pointing at Benny. "Why is he here? Wait, how the hell is he even alive? He stayed behind in purgatory."

Garth opened his mouth to speak, but was overridden by Benny's deep drawl. "Aww Sammy, good to see you too," he smiled. "I was in purgatory for a spell, but I found out I was needed here so I decided to come back and help out. Can't say no to kin, know what I mean?" the big man said, throwing his arm around Elizabeth.

She sighed and looked at Sam, who was looking more nervous than before, if that was even possible. "Some of Benny's old pirate comrades decided they wanted revenge and tracked me down. I was attacked and turned," she said, curling up her lip with a finger to show the small opening that allowed her vampire teeth to emerge. "Benny agreed to come back and help me adjust and teach me how to survive without hurting anyone."

Sam thought he might keel over right there. Not one, but two vampires were standing at the bunker door holding warm side dishes, waiting to be let in and share Thanksgiving dinner with them. Sam had started to warm to Benny the last time, after seeing the way he'd sacrificed himself for his sake and led him out of Purgatory. Elizabeth was another matter, although she was under the tutelage of the only vamp he even semi-trusted. There was also the fact that Garth obviously trusted them enough to travel with both of them and bring them here.

Sighing, Sam pulled open the door farther and let them in. Just as he was about to explain that Dean wasn't there and probably wouldn't be showing at all, he heard a flutter of wings. Really, really big wings. Then the sound of a gun being cocked in the silence.

"Michaela! No!" Sam shouted, turning to face her and jumping in front of Benny and Elizabeth. "It's ok, they're friendlies. Benny was in Purgatory with Dean and Cas. He saved me when I got stuck there saving Bobby from hell."

Mike stood in the middle of the room, gun trained on the two vamps standing at the door. Every piece of her training told her that vampires as a breed were evil incarnate and didn't deserve to live. But her instincts were warring with her mind. Neither the man nor the woman gave off the monster vibes she was used to, not to mention the fact that Sam was vouching for them.

Hot damn, Benny thought, taking a ragged breath. She was a vision. He'd never seen an angel like this before. Benny only knew Castiel, and this was definitely not him. Golden hair fell in curls past her shoulders and grazed against an enormous set of wings that gleamed and almost sparkled in the light. Calling her wings brown didn't do them justice, as he could tell they were a deep chocolate underneath and covered in layers of caramel, cinnamon and toffee feathers, then highlighted in deep golds just a few shades darker than her hair.

Deciding to give the benefit of the doubt, she lowered her gun and stepped forward, her finger still twitching near the trigger. Benny wanted to whimper, wither under her gaze, but he held fast, fascinated by her presence and her trust in Sam's judgement. After a moment she reached out a hand and ran it across his shoulder and arm, almost touching, but not quite. Cocking her head to the side the same way he'd often seen Castiel do, her fingers reached for his face, touching his cheek and trailing her fingertips through the scruffy beard on his chin, as if she'd never seen anything like him before.

Finally Benny gave in, blinking a few times and peering intensely back into her green eyes. Suddenly, her face changed and she flashed a wicked grin that would have brought a mortal man to his knees. The vampire knew he'd just passed whatever test she'd given him as she stepped back and looked at Elizabeth inquisitively, running her hand across the front of her face as well. Turning back to him she nodded and stretched to allow her wings to fold into themselves and tuck away again. Now she was just a regular woman standing before him, not the golden angel, but it didn't matter. He was lost and he knew it. 

 

* * *

 

Sam was still on edge, even after watching Michaela give Benny and Elizabeth the once over and her approval. He suddenly realized he was currently watching a Nephilim and two Cajun vampires make Thanksgiving dinner while two bachelor hunters tried to figure out how to properly set the table for said dinner.

Looking over at Garth, who had apparently just found a walk-in linen closet they didn't know they had while looking for a tablecloth, Sam grabbed the smaller hunter by the scruff of the neck and shoved him inside. After looking back over his should to make sure Mike hadn't seen him, Sam stepped in and shut the door.

"What the hell is going on Garth?" he hissed quietly. "Why do I currently have two vampires in our bunker cooking dinner? Why didn't you tell me who these surprise guests were ahead of time?"

Garth sighed, shaking his head. "Because I knew you'd react like this," he said, "Benny's a good guy, and Lizzy is great." 

"Lizzy?" Sam thought, before shaking his head, trying not to get distracted. "How the hell did Benny get out of Purgatory? And how did you get mixed up with them?"

"Look, it's a long story, ok? Hell, why don't you go ask Dean, he'll tell you about it. Where is he anyway?" Garth asked.

Sam should have known Dean would be mixed up in this somehow, and he wasn't completely surprised that he hadn't been told about it either. Hearing Michaela call his name, he looked over at Garth, muttering "later," then stepped out of the closet with a handful of dishes. The skinny hunter behind him breathed a sigh of relief at being let off the hook for now, grabbed a tablecloth and napkins, and scurried out behind Sam.

Dinner went reasonably well, considering Sam could still feel Michaela on guard, even with her acceptance of the vampires at her table. Over the past week he had begun to learn her mannerisms and he could tell she wasn't completely at ease, the way her eyes flickered across the room, constantly monitoring where everyone was at all times. He also knew that while Benny and Elizabeth had been elbow deep in peeling potatoes and mixing stuffing, she'd excused herself and come back with a smaller gun concealed in the back of her jeans beneath her shirt. 

That plus the fact that Sam knew she always carried a Bowie knife strapped to her ankle and a small cutting blade in her left pocket told him she was just being polite about the whole holiday hospitality thing. At the last minute, while everyone was bringing the food to the table, Mike had gone into the library and knelt on the floor with Captain and Royal. Rubbing their heads, she'd had a whispered conversation with them before walking back into the kitchen. Sam had watched out of the corner of his eye, trying not to be too obvious. She'd given them orders he realized, when Captain slipped into the kitchen and curled up in a corner and Royal trotted over to the front door and laid down to keep watch there. Nothing would get past them this way. Or get to her for that matter.

 

* * *

 

Sitting at a Thanksgiving table surrounded by family and friends was an experience that Benny had not had in literally centuries. He found himself enjoying the food and the conversation, but especially the company. Michaela was a revelation, with her sly grin and Texas drawl that did wonders for this Cajun boy's disposition, but he knew there were more hurdles to jump. He may be a guy, and a vamp, but he knew when a woman was eyeballing you warily behind your back, wondering when you'd turn on her. The vampire also knew that the giant ball of fur in the corner was giving him the evil eye and not the leftover turkey.

Over dinner, the five of them swapped stories of holidays passed, like the time Benny tried to teach Garth to cook and ended up with a houseful of smoke and a ham reduced to lumpy charcoal. Garth talked about biting into a bone one year, chipping a tooth and requiring an emergency visit to the the dentist that inspired him to eventually become one himself. Sam told a story of Dean eating so much pie one year that he could not even smell it without feeling nauseous for weeks. Served him right for eating Sam's share too when he wasn't looking. 

Mike wove a story out of her memories, about her grandparents and how David had been the one to insist on making the cornbread dressing from his own grandmother's recipe. How nearly every dish was made with vegetables and herbs from Raquel's gardens and orchard. And how every year there would be just them and her mother at the table, even though her grandparents always insisted on making enough to feed an army. And every year like clockwork, as the afternoon wore on, friends and neighbors would begin to drop by to say hello. 

By evening it would turn into a party that spilled into the back yard, and at dusk her grandfather would flip a switch, turning the Christmas lights on for the first time that season. Twinkling white lights had draped the ancient oaks in the backyard and made the wrap-around porch look like it was covered in glistening snow. The men would setup picnic tables in the yard and the women would bring out all the leftover food from the house, adding on extra side dishes they'd brought with them, so that dinner could be shared by everyone. 

Sam watched Michaela's face as she talked about her family. Unlike him and Dean, she'd grown up surrounded by family and friends who had protected her and given her good memories growing up. He wondered if he could convince her to give him a tour of her hometown one day and show him where she'd grown up. Maybe if they caught a hunt nearby one day he'd be able to see these places that she spoke about with such fondness in her eyes. Glancing around, he tried memorizing this moment so it could become one of his memories someday. Like Garth holding his belly and groaning while still eyeballing the last spoonful of cornbread dressing, made just the way Mike's great-grandmother had. Elizabeth explaining to Mike how their Thanksgivings in Louisiana had usually involved gumbo and crawfish in some way. And Benny staring longingly down the table at Michaela... wait, what?

Sam stiffened slightly, trying not to give himself away, and stared at Benny through narrowed eyes. Was Mike in danger? Was Benny looking for a way to get close to her so she'd drop her defenses, allowing him an opportunity to attack? Even an old vampire would be wary of a Nephilim's powers. He watched silently as Benny threw his head back and laughed at something Mike said, then looked back at her with a wide grin and soft eyes. The hunter looked at him in shock, letting his mouth slowly fall open before regaining his composure. 

Sam's brain buzzed into overdrive, tying to compute this new development. Benny was crushing on Mike. Wait. Benny was interested in Mike?! Oh hell no, not on his watch. No way was a vampire hitting on his sort-of-kind-of-maybe-future-sister-in-law/BFF, even if it was Benny. Dammit! Where the hell was Dean when he needed him?

Nearby, Benny was trying desperately not to fall for the angel, Nephilim he corrected himself, nearby. Whip smart with an incredibly dry sense of humor, he'd had a hard time not sitting there just staring and grinning like an idiot. Glancing at Sam, he saw that the hunter was more on guard than usual, staring at Michaela with a protective, almost possessive look. Was she Sam's girl? She had mentioned knowing Dean for a long time, but glossed over the specifics and he could tell there was a story there, even if he didn't know what it was yet. Mike could easily have been an acquaintance of one brother and ended up with the other. Shifting in his seat, he knew he'd have to tread lightly until he knew for sure.

After dinner and cleanup, all anyone wanted was a nap, so Sam showed Garth and Benny the little TV room they'd made out of what had once been a music room, complete with recording equipment, turntable and piano. Now there were two couches there they could crash on, and a big screen where they could watch football if they wanted to. Down the hall, the hunter showed Elizabeth to another spare bedroom, then walked away yawning, thinking a little nap didn't sound half bad. He stopped suddenly, hearing Michaela in her room as he walked past. Sam wasn't sure about Benny's intentions but he wasn't taking any chances and he wasn't completely sure if Mike had noticed the way he'd looked at her. Better be safe than sorry he thought, stepping over Captain as he stood guard and knocked quietly on her bedroom door.

Mike heard a soft knock as she pulled off her sweater. The dogs hadn't made a noise so she knew it had to be Sam. Pulling her hair out of it's clip and letting it fall loose, she padded barefoot over to the door and opened it.

"Can I come in for a minute?" Sam asked. "I need to talk to you about something, in private."

She nodded, letting him in and closing the door behind him. Sitting cross legged on the bed in her jeans and a tank top, she could feel sleep pulling her and hoped Sam wasn't looking for some in depth conversation right now. At the same time, she could tell there was something bothering him, with his tense shoulders thrown back and his fists clenching. Mike watched the tall man pace the floor and run his fingers through his hair, knowing he was trying to decide how to form into words what he wanted to tell her.

"Do you love Dean?" he asked abruptly, stopping in front of her and crossing his arms accusingly.

Mike gaped at him. "What the hell are you talking about? Of course I do, he's my soul mate. How dare you question me about my feelings when your stupid brother is the one that walked out," she growled out, getting up from the bed and going toe to toe with Sam and poking his chest with her finger. "You better have a damn good reason for coming in here and questioning me like this Sammy."

The hunter looked down on her, literally, watching her drop her hands to her hips and glare at him, her anger obviously building. She might be little, but she had spunk he thought.  Sam hadn't wanted to think of her having feeling for anyone else, but he had had to find out for himself. Sighing and slumping his shoulders, he sat down on the edge of the bed and stared down at his feet. "Benny likes you," he muttered, "He LIKE likes you."

Looking confused for a minute, Mike walked over to stand in front of him again and tapped his shoulder so he would look at her. Cocking her head to the side, she said simply, "Explain please. What do you mean like like?"

Groaning, Sam fell backwards onto the bed, throwing an arm across his eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was have a conversation about feelings with his brother's ex/future girlfriend. "Benny wouldn't stop looking at you at dinner. He laughed at everything you said, too much and too loud. He kept finding reasons to touch you or be near you. He's interested in you, like, romantically," he muttered. 

He paused for her reaction but heard nothing, so after a few seconds he moved his arm enough to peek up at her. Mike stood by his feet, a look of concentration on her face. "What you are trying to say," she said, sounding for all the world like a mini-Castiel, "is that Benny is infatuated with me. Is that correct?"

Sam sighed again and nodded, putting the arm back over his eyes. Feeling movement on the bed, he realized she had sat on the bed next to him and mimicked his move of falling backwards with her feet still hanging off the edge. 

"You are worried that I will develop feelings for the vampire since your brother rejected me, aren't you?" she asked, staring at the ceiling. "I find it difficult to have feelings for someone I just met, especially because of what he is, but mostly because I have yet to get over Dean. Your brother has been a part of my life for too long to just forget about abruptly. Besides, as a Nephilim, soft feelings for someone are not easy to develop."

Moving his arm and turning his head, Sam found himself looking eye to eye with her. "I like you Mike. We've known each other for less than two weeks and I already think of you as a sister and a good friend. Benny has sacrificed himself for both Dean and I and for that I am grateful, but Heaven forgive me, I don't see him as being good enough for you. I keep hoping that my brother will pull his head out of his ass and see what he could have with you but I don't know if that will ever happen," he explained quietly. "Just keep your guard up, ok? I don't want you to get hurt. Not to mention the fact that I don't 100% trust him yet since we still haven't gotten the story on how he got out of Purgatory."

Michaela gave him an understanding smile and nodded, turning over and resting her head on his shoulder. She had seen his aura change the moment their guests had shown up. His standard pale green had turned into a glowing orange and she realized now that this color meant he was on guard and being protective. She'd never had a brother to look after her, and she had to admit it was a little nice, if also a bit irritating.

"You can't put me in a glass cage Sammy," she said, getting up, "No matter how much you want to protect me. I can take care of myself. But thank you for your concern."

Sam sat up, looking disgruntled. Thank you for your concern? What the hell was that? She was family dammit! That's when he noticed them, scars. All over her arms, criss-crossing on top of each other, creating woven layers of faded scar tissue. Grabbing her by the arm, he spun her around and saw that they continued and in fact worsened across her back. The hunter's mouth went dry, realizing that Mike had some serious secrets she had yet to spill.

"Let go of me!" she yelped, yanking her arm out of his grasp. "Don't touch me. I don't like being grabbed and touched like that," she said, her wings whipping out and wrapping around her body protectively. She stepped back, trying desperately to hide the shaking that had taken over her.

Mike showed clear signs of slipping into a panic attack and Sam didn't want to be responsible for that. Standing and raising his hands in surrender, he backed away towards the door. How had he not seen the clear signs of PTSD? Locked doors, weapons always at the ready, eyes constantly roving for danger, never letting her back face the room, all of these things he'd chalked up to habit from being an experienced hunter. His brother did most of those things too, but then again Dean had vacationed in Hell for forty years. If she'd experience even half of what Dean had been through, she could be seriously damaged.

"Michaela I'm sorry, I didn't realize," Sam said quietly. "I won't touch you again, not without your permission. It's just that I saw your scars and I panicked. I wasn't thinking straight, not when I realized someone had hurt you."

Looking down, she realized her tank top had left her arms and upper back bare, showing off the years of healed over scars. She reached into her closet, putting her wings away and then grabbing a hoodie to cover herself.

"I don't like talking about it," she whispered, looking down at her feet. "I'm not scared of you Sammy, I know you wouldn't hurt me. You just surprised me and I reacted."

Nodding in understanding, Sam put his arms down. "Can I ask you question that's not about how you got the scars?" he asked, continuing when she nodded silently. "How long have you had PTSD?"

Mike's head jerked up, looking at Sam with big frightened eyes. Hugging herself with her arms, she turned and began to pace quickly, running fingers through her hair. After a moment she stopped and turned to look at him with a defiant look and fire in her green eyes this time. 

"I am Nephilim, the bastard child of an Archangel, and a hunter, scholar, and healer in my own right. How I deal with my past is my business, and I sure as hell don't have PTSD. That's for mortals," she said, sneering and tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Don't confuse me with what you and your kind are susceptible to."

The big man was shocked at her outburst, and the cocky attitude that radiateed from her. He had yet to see this side of Mike and wondered if she really meant what she said or if it was a defense mechanism. He was going to have to do some research on PTSD, he thought.

Looking back at Mike and meeting her eye to eye, he nods and says, "My mistake. Just remember what I told you. Be careful around Benny." Turning, he walked out of her bedroom, finger combing his hair as he stalked down the hall. 

Michaela stared at Sam's broad back as he walked away, then motioned for Captain and Royal to come into her room and closed and locked the door behind her. Stripping off her hoodie and jeans and tossing them into a corner, she pulled back the covers on her bed and crawled in. Burying her face into her grandmother's quilt, she finally let the tears fall, her only acknowledgement that she knew damn well that her friend was right about her having PTSD. She did her best to hide it and it usually wasn't hard when she spent most of he time alone and the rest with other hunters who usually had more baggage than she did. But that didn't make the memories and pain any easier to carry. 

Royal climbed up onto the bed with her, snuggling close and draping his head across her legs. Captain jumped up behind her and curled up against the backs of her knees. Since she'd gotten her boys, she hadn't been as jumpy and nervous, which had probably helped her keep her secret for as long as she had. She would tell Sam eventually she guessed, but first now she needed rest.

 

* * *

 

Down the hall, in the other direction from Sam's room, Benny stood frozen in place and trying to catch his breath. He'd left the TV room to get Garth his third piece of pecan pie and was about to walk down the hallway when he'd heard Michaela's door open. Peeking around the corner, he saw Sam leaving her room quietly, their hair loose and mussed and the bed situated behind Mike's shadow well rumpled. The hoodie she wore gaped open at the neck and began to slide down her shoulder until she absently pushed it back up and motioned for the dogs to enter her bedroom, closing the door behind them. 

Benny turned away from what he'd seen and sagged against the wall. When the hoodie had fallen from her shoulder, it had been bare. Just a single strap lying across it, a bra strap he guessed. And she'd been barefoot. Sam's shirt had been wrinkled, especially across the back where it had ridden up and ended up tucked into his jeans. So she was Sam's girl after all he thought. Whether Dean was in the picture or not now seemed irrelevent, but he still wondered if his friend knew just how close Mike and his brother had gotten. Mike might never be Benny's, but that sure as hell didn't mean he had to like her belonging to Sam.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Would love some feedback. Check back soon for the next chapter.


	6. A Game of Heavenly Thrones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel arrives at the bunker in search of Dean and instead discovers Michaela. He is not pleased, until he realizes who she is. Apparently there's more to the prophecy than even Mike knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Can't wait to read your comments.

Sam found Michaela in the garage the same way she was the first time he'd laid eyes on her in the restaurant parking lot, butt in the air. This time her top half was inside the big built in toolbox in the back of the truck, and even from the door he could hear her grumbling and cussing about not being able to find something.

"Umm, do you need some help?" he asked, trying to hide his grin. Sam heard a resigned sigh then watched her shimmy back out of the truck and land on her feet.

"Would you dig in there for me?" she asked, pointing at the toolbox. "I dropped the boys' toys in there and they're giving me some major sad puppy eyes because they want to play and I can't find them. 

Grinning, Sam nodded and went over to dig through the box. Both Captain and Royal were sitting at attention by the side of the truck, waiting patiently for their toys. After a moment, he pulled out a knotted rope that Royal lunged for immediately and took off with to gnaw on. Next was a bright yellow rubber ducky, which Captain immediately claimed and trotted away with protectively. The big man grinned, realizing that Captain had a hidden soft side. A lot like Dean he thought, sobering slightly.

Dammit, where was his brother? It had been over a week since Thanksgiving, five days since the last text had come through, about joining forces with Garth to take down some ghouls. Sam had asked Garth to keep his ears open for news about Dean and maybe offer some help so he wouldn’t be hunting alone. Sounds like Garth had come through for him. Them, he thought, knowing that Michaela was just as worried as him but tried not to show it.

* * *

Thanksgiving had ended without a hitch. Benny behaved himself. Garth and Elizabeth were showing subtle signs of being sweet on each other, and Mike managed to make it through the entire next day without a hint of a panic attack.

Now Sam was wondering if what he was about to ask her was the right thing to do, but he figured he couldn’t treat her with kid gloves. That would just make her madder, and there was already a little frost on the edges of their friendship since the night he’d seen her scars.

“Hey Mike,” Sam asked, “How do you feel about going on a hunt with me? Sounds like there’s some werewolves raising hell in Memphis and I could use the backup. I don’t know when Dean will be able to go with me, and frankly I don’t want to wait for him.”

Mike looked a little surprised. She’d thought she’d ruined their new friendship with her outburst after he tried to touch her. Maybe this is a peace offering, she thought.

“Sure,” she said, “When do you want to head out?”

Twenty minutes later, Sam and Mike discussed the details of their impending hunt while sitting on Tory’s tailgate and sipping a couple beers.

“Hello Sam,” a gravelly voice said. “I would like to speak to Dean. Where is he?”

* * *

Sam jumped, and then relaxed quickly when he saw the trench coat wearing angel nearby. “Hey Cas,” he said, “Long time no see. Dean’s not here.”

Michaela tensed, jumping off the tailgate and stepping away from the angel and summoning her angel blade to her hand. As a Nephilim she knew she was to be killed on sight by any and all of Heaven’s angels.

Cas looked at her in surprise. He thought he’d killed the only Nephilim alive, or so Metatron had said. Calling his blade into his hand, he prepared to end the threat. Later he would need to discover why he had not felt her until he was in the same room. Perhaps the bunker shielded her now, but what about before?

Sam looked back and forth between Mike and Cas worriedly, realizing he was about to see a major battle between the two. “Cas no!” he yelled, moving to protect her. “She’s ok, don’t hurt her. She’s Dean’s soul mate. And Michael’s daughter.”

Cas waivered at this announcement. His Dean was a righteous man, one he’d pulled from Perdition himself. How could an abomination be his soul mate? It had to be a trick he thought. Then he realized what else Sam had said, about his eldest brother, Michael the Archangel.

“How dare you defame my brother’s name? Michael would never break our Father’s law, to lower himself to create something such as her. Did she tell you this? She is a liar and an abomination and deserves to be killed," Castiel growled.

Michaela’s straightened up to her full 5’4” frame and allowed her wings to spread and angle themselves forward, preparing to attack. She knew full well what she was, but that didn’t mean she had to like. Especially if the insult came from the mouth of one of Heaven’s mindless minions. Both Sam and Dean had told her who Castiel was and what he had done for them, but regardless of their friendship, she wasn’t just going to just lie down and let him kill her. Raising her blade, she prepared for the inevitable bloodshed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel saw her raise her blade and turned to defend himself. At the same time, something else caught his attention. A deep blue sapphire the size of a robin’s egg gleamed from the handle in the industrial lighting of the garage. It can’t be true he thought, pausing and lowering his own blade. Memories of the last conversation he ever had with his brother Michael came rushing back to him. Stepping back, he put away his blade and lowered his head in apparent subservience. “My queen,” he whispered reverently.

Of all the things Michaela had expected Castiel to do, this was definitely not one of them. She glanced over at Sam and saw the same shocked expression on his face.

“Explain yourself angel,” Mike demanded.

“You carry my brother’s Archangel blade. He… he told me he’d given it to his heir. I didn’t understand at the time. My apologies,” Cas explained, staring at his feet. “Before his final fight against Lucifer, Michael told me that this would be a fight to the death. If Lucifer won somehow, I was not to despair, just to continue guarding Dean and Sam as I’d been ordered. Someday there would be an heir who would carry his colors and carry on his legacy; and the Winchesters would unite behind them.”

“Is that really Michael’s Archangel Blade?” Sam asked after a pause to let Cas' declaration sink in, gesturing at the instrument in Michaela’s hand. “I’ve never seen an angel blade decorated with jewels.”

Michaela nodded, staring down at the heavy steel with the enormous sapphire winking back at her. “Only Archangel blades have jewels, and Michael is represented by the color blue,” she said, “He gave it to me the last time I saw him. But he didn’t say anything about being an heir. I am an abomination remember?”

“You are his heir because Michael so decreed it. It is not for us to question,” Cas stated.

“I think the important question here is what exactly are you supposed to do as his heir Mike?” Sam asked. “After all, as a Nephilim you are supposed to be inherently evil and therefore hunted by angels. Plus your dad is still in the pit with Lucifer so he can’t exactly vouch for you and he only issued the decree naming you his heir in front of Cas.”

Mike shrugged her shoulders. She knew where her father was, and that short of some major miracle or interference by her AWOL Grandfather on high, he was never getting out of the cage. This was getting more confusing by the moment, and she couldn't fight the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach that this situation was about to get a lot worse than it already was.

“He did not explain your purpose then Nephilim? Umm, my queen?” Castiel asked, correcting himself.

“Stop calling me that. I know I’m an abomination. I don’t need you reminding me every 30 seconds. And I am not your queen,” Mike grumbled. “Just call me Michaela or Mike.” This angel wasn’t making any sense and getting on her last nerve. Not to mention the terrifying thought that he could know something she didn’t about the prophecy.

“My queen, umm Michaela. Michael is the eldest of our brothers and sisters, and as such he has always ruled over Heaven’s angels in some way,” Cas explained gravely. “However, after our Father disappeared, Michael was required to take control of all of Heaven in His absence. I believe my brother acted in a way he thought best. He could not have foreseen ending up in a cage with Lucifer, although he had considered his possible death, which must be why you were planned and conceived. He would have no way of knowing which of his siblings to trust to take over for him if he fell in battle. Therefore in his absence, and as his only child, you are now the sole heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Heaven.”


	7. Time Stops for No Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Mike become hunting partners, while Garth joins up with Dean halfway across the country. The brothers finally speak and Cas visits Dean to explain the new revelations to the prophecy. Pig-headedness ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of bridging a gap. The next one is going to have a lot of Dean and Cas and plenty of fluff and angst so stick with me!

“Here pretty birdie,” he growled in a mocking whisper, “I know you’re out here, and I know what you are. I can smell it. Come on out for the big bad wolf.” The werewolf gave a feral grin when he heard the sound of steps off to his right. His lips curled up, exposing his canines and he couldn’t help but laugh at the stupidity of hunters trying to hunt him on the banks of the Mississippi. This was his turf. He had home field advantage, and nobody could hunt here better than he could.

Hearing rustling to his right again, he saw him, a mountain of a man gripping a knife and ready to pounce. “So,” he drawled, “She had to call for back up for little ol’ me did she?”

Sam smirked, returning the feral grin that the werewolf gave him and straightened his shoulders. “Oh no,” he said. “You’re all hers. I just like to watch.”

The old werewolf looked startled for a moment, narrowing his eyes. It was a trap and that bitch had set him up he realized. That was his last thought, as Michael’s Archangel Blade slid into his back, surging up through his sternum and forcing his last breath to turn a misty red. He dropped into the dense Mississippi mud beneath them with a final gurgle.

Michaela wiped the blade on the dead monster’s jacket, and then slipped it into the scabbard strapped to her hip. Looking up at Sam, she caught his grin and cocked an eyebrow. “So,” she asked, “You like to watch?”

Even in the dark, she could tell he blushed as he realized she’d heard what he’d told the werewolf.

“I was just trying to distract him,” Sam sputtered, seeing Mike nod her head in agreement while still looking like she didn’t believe a word that came out of his mouth. He smiled sheepishly as she began to walk back to the truck, “I do like to watch you work though. I’ve never seen anyone fight like you.” At least not since Dean, he thought silently.

She barked out a short laugh, muttered something about flattery and climbed into the truck to stow their gear. This hunt was done and she was ready to tie up all the loose ends so they could get out of there. It had taken a week for the two of them to hunt down all the werewolves in the area, and this one had been the oldest, and last. The hunters were cold, hungry, and achy in all the wrong places. Food and a hot shower beckoned at them distantly from the bunker.

Picking up the werewolf’s lifeless body, Sam hauled it up the riverbank and dropped it into the truck bed, covering it with a tarp. They were too close to the city to burn it here, but it wasn’t a big deal. Memphis might have glittered at them in the distance, but it was surrounded by nothing but farmland. Another bonfire on a cold December night would not be noticed out there.

* * *

Mike and Sam made a good team, working silently side by side. Ironically, in this team Sam was the brawn and Mike was the brains. He knew it was partially because he was a full foot taller than her and much stronger, but also because she had all those degrees stacked up behind her name to go with her experience. He’d discovered she was actually _Dr. Michaela Garcia_ and had taken to calling her doc when she got all bookwormy. But Sam didn’t mind. He liked having someone to discuss books and films with, something other than anime anyway, and she had a fresh take on things he’d always taken for face value.

One of the things Mike had suggested immediately was stocking the bunker’s library with newer versions of old texts, which Sam hadn’t realized was necessary. But after much discussion and research, he discovered that although most of their texts were usable, there were often other versions with better translations or additional notes out there that would be more useful. A lot has been discovered in the last fifty years, she liked to remind him.

Next was the discovery of the greenhouse and gardens, which he didn’t even know they had. Mike had discovered them one day after getting turned around looking for the shooting range. The door had opened to a sort of mud room, small and musty, but housing several pairs of rain boots, work gloves and gardening tools. The next door directly in front of her opened into a small greenhouse, with deep shelves lining each side and rows of terra cotta pots. After all these years nothing was growing in here but cobwebs and dirt, but everything seemed to be in order, as if the gardener had just stepped out and not come back for fifty years.

There was a second door in the mudroom, to the right this time, and behind this heavier door Michaela found gardens, tucked between the walls of the bunker and the greenhouse like a little oasis. There was a narrow path that led to a bench and what she assumed used to be a fountain. In one corner there was a little patch of grass that was surrounded by a low picket fence, now barely standing. Slouching more like, she thought. Seeing the little metal stakes she realized this must have been a small outdoor garden to accompany the greenhouse. “Chrysanthemum, Lavender, Rosemary,” she read off the labels quietly. Part kitchen and herb garden, part medicinal Mike thought.

Over time, Sam had caught Mike working out there more and more, even putting him to work turning mulch into the outside garden before the first snow. After that they stuck to the greenhouse, starting seedlings and preparing pots with fresh soil for the spring. As they worked she would tell him stories of her Grandmother Raquel, the _Curandera_ , and everything she had taught her. Which herbs were good to have around for medicinal reasons, for spells, and for dinner she’d laughed.

The big man was all thumbs at first, having a hell of a time trying to plant seeds the size of a pin head with those big hands. She’d just smiled and took pity, telling him perhaps his hands were best used for other things, like lifting the big bags of potting soil and mulch. Sam had looked at her gratefully, dropping the tiny seeds into her outstretched hands. He’d never done anything like this before, even at Bobby’s. They’d had neither the time nor the inclination to plant a garden, not when they couldn’t even plant their feet in the same town more than a couple nights in a row.

His bedroom had been her latest project, after seeing that it was bare down to the sterile army surplus blanket on the bed and UV lights on the ceiling. He’d tried explaining to her like he had to Dean that he had no concept of a home, he’d never really had one. But Mike refused to budge, knowing just what to say to get him to change his mind. She reminded him of the home he’d been building with Jess and the makeshift temporary homes Dean had created for him as a child out of motels and abandoned houses, always making him feel safe.

But that was the point wasn’t it? Home is like family, defined only by you and whatever you want it to be. It is a place where you feel safe, be that Bobby’s house or the bunker or the Impala parked under a tree. The bunker was Sam’s home now, his haven and oasis, so why not make it something he could appreciate coming home to? A couple trips to town had added shelves for his books and DVD’s, pale blue sheets for the bed and a darker blue duvet that didn’t come from the Korean War era.

Discovering he was a capable handyman, Mike had set him to removing the sterile UV light fixture, replacing it with an extra-large ceiling fan, complete with a soft globe light. Apparently he hadn’t been so subtle about always being hot, even in the dead of winter. He’d been sleeping better and better since they’d begun making changes, not that he’d tell her that. But he did thank her by replacing the lighting in her room too, without even having to be asked. She’d just smiled, understanding his gesture. Maybe little sisters weren’t so bad he’d thought.

* * *

It had been two hours since the last werewolf had been burnt to cinders, and Sam and Mike were well out of Tennessee, bee-lining for the bunker and home. The big man had offered to drive first so she could nap, and he used that time to think. He still hadn’t heard from his big brother, but Garth was good about updating him every few days with a text letting him know they were alive and in which state. That was as good as it was going to get he figured.

Michaela had turned out to be a better hunter than he’d expected, making up in logic and grit what she didn’t have in size or strength. She had turned out to be smart and strong and funny and was fast becoming a confidante. Sam saw now what Dean had seen in her all these years and just wished his stubborn ass brother would realize what he was losing acting this way.

His phone going off pulled Sam out of his thoughts. Glancing at the screen, he realized it was Dean.

“Dean?” he asked, wondering if he’d been butt-dialed by his older brother. At this point that wasn’t out of the range of possibilities.

“Heya Sammy, how’s life treatin’ ya?” Dean drawled, obviously a few beers into a six pack and feeling very relaxed.

Great, this was not a butt-dial but a drunk-dial, which was just what Sam needed to finish off his day.

“Dean,” Sam tried again, “Where the hell are you? And when are you coming home? You’ve been gone almost a month and there’s a lot that’s happened. Have you talked to Cas?”

“Nope, no Cas, got Garth though. Hey Garth, wanna say hi to Sammy?” he yelled at someone in the background. “Eh, he says hi. I think. He’s kinda slurring a lot right now.”

Dean giggled, forcing a sigh out of his little brother. Sobering up slightly, he finally answered the previous question. “We’re in some little shit-hole town outside Abilene, just finished a salt and burn down here. Wasn’t as easy as we thought it would be. Damn Indian ghosts are a bitch,” he grumbled.

“Native American Dean, not Indian,” Sam started to correct him, then gave up. “You know what? Never mind. How soon can you get back to the bunker?”

Dean sighed into the phone. “Is she still there?” he whispered quietly, his hoarse voice revealing more than he realized.

Sam glanced over at the still sleeping Mike, “Yes, she’s with me. We just finished a hunt in Memphis and are on our way back to the bunker. Took down a nest of werewolves, six in all including an alpha I think.

Dean spluttered beer into the phone, “Six? Are you serious? What the hell were you thinking Sammy? You know better than to go into a nest that big with a rookie for backup. Why didn’t you call me?”

“Would you have answered?” Sam asked, “Besides, I had backup. Mike sure as hell isn’t a rookie. She can handle herself, just as well as we can.”

“Is… is she ok?” his brother asked, shuffling his feet in the sand and gripping the phone tightly. He cared a hell of a lot more than he let on, but then that was always his weak spot. First it was Sam and now it was Sam and Mike and they were going on hunts together. Alone. Without backup. If he lost them both he might as well throw himself back into hell and save Crowley the trouble.

“She’s fine. We both are. Just tired and ready to get home,” Sam said.

Dean started at the word “home,” not expecting it from his baby brother, certainly not in relation to the bunker. “Ok, sounds good,” he muttered. “Why do I need to talk to Cas?”

Rolling his eyes over the phone at his older brother, he said, “Look Dean, there’s a lot going on. Cas came to visit and met Michaela. We found out some new stuff about the prophecy but it’s complicated. He can probably explain it to you best. Just call him ok?”

“Ok, yeah Samsquatch, I’ll call him. I, uh, I’ll see you,” Dean muttered.

“Dean? Are you coming home? Please?” Sam pleaded quietly.

“I just, I can’t Sammy, not yet. Not while I’m still trying to figure out how I feel about Michael being a matchmaker and becoming my angelic father-in-law-from-hell. It’s not her, it’s me,” he said.

Rolling his eyes, the younger man had had enough. “Fine Dean, you know what? Take your time. Just understand that time doesn’t stop for anyone, even you. So while you’re gone, everyone else’s lives keep going forward. Mike and I are friends, we hunt together and I trust her to have my back… Look, all I’m saying is don’t expect everything to be exactly the same by the time you decide to come back. She’s not putting her life on hold for you. It’s not fair,” Sam growled out protectively.

Dean stared at his phone in shock, but he knew his baby brother was right, and secretly he was glad Sam was in Mike’s corner. Saying their goodbyes, and promising to call more often, Dean slid back into the lawn chair he’d found in Garth’s car. Well that had been a hell of a call he thought. Since when had Sammy gotten all protective big brother over Mike? And what was this new info that was too complicated for anyone but Cas to tell him?

Sighing, Dean realized that curiosity was going to win out on this one. “So Cas, who art in that stupid trench coat, mud be thy name if you don’t get your feathery ass down here and tell me what I need to know ab…”

“Hello Dean.”

* * *

An hour later, Dean sat staring into the fire he and Garth had built to take the chill out of the desert night. It wasn’t much help. He’d listened in shock and then horror as Cas had explained Michael’s revelation to him and Michaela’s role in the current heavenly revolution. The hunter realized that this information coupled with the prophecy meant that the two of them were meant to unite to take over heaven, at least in the beginning. Eventually they would back the new heir that would take over for Mike and rule the newly combined Kingdom. In other words, their CHILD. Their innocent, yet to be conceived, hell, yet to be considered, baby would be destined to unite a divided war-torn Heaven.

Looking down at the now flat beer in his hand, he chugged the rest and tossed the empty over his shoulder. “I won’t do it Cas. I can’t subject some kid to this life, not knowing what waits for it,” he said sadly.

Castiel sat cross legged in the sand near him, staring at him in his way, like he was dissecting the hunter’s soul. “Dean,” he asked softly, “You would give up the opportunity to join with your soul mate, to beget children, just to thwart Michael’s plans? You of all people know that nothing is written in stone. We have free will, therefore nothing is guaranteed. You and Sam have stopped the apocalypse, re-caged Lucifer himself, cheated death over and over and yet now you doubt yourself. Why?”

“Come on Cas, really? How can you compare that?” Dean growled, jumping up and beginning to pace by the fire. “Sam and I are grown men, we can take care of ourselves, and when we can’t we have each other. You’re talking about one woman, ok one Nephilim, Mike against all of Heaven’s Angels. You expect her to wage a war to unite all of Heaven, and then make her kid rule them? How is that even possible? The child would be human and unable to protect itself. It would have no choice in the life it was born to into, just like me and Sammy. I won’t do that to a kid; have it brought into a world of constant battles.”

“Hey, she wouldn’t be alone. And neither would the kid,” Garth muttered from the other side of the fire. He’d long ago given up trying to stay upright after finishing his last beer and was now sprawled on top of his sleeping bag. Zippers were complicated. “We’d have her back too, right Cas? And so would Benny and my Lizzy. Especially Benny. He liked Mike a lot. I could tell.”

Scowling at his hunting partner Dean grabbed his sleeping bag and decided it was time for bed.

“Dean, we need to discuss your decision. This is important,” Cas insisted.

“C’mon Cas. It’s late, I’m tired and drunk and pissed off and all I wanna do is go to sleep. So what if I don’t wanna get hitched and have some rugrats? Somebody else will come along and Heaven will unite and get itself back together, all without my help. So go away. Wanna sleep,” he said, curling up against the cold. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Cas sat in the silence, watching his hunter begin to snore softly in the dark. Hmm, what’s the worst that could happen? Michael must have entrusted him with this knowledge for a reason. To ensure that his heirs inherited the throne, he assumed, and he refused to fail his brother. Something about this scenario seemed familiar as well, as if he’d seen it before, but he needed time to reflect on his best course of action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Leave comments. Love me some comments...


	8. Days of Future Dean, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas decides it's time to show Dean what he would be missing, so he pulls a "Zachariah." Dean is not exactly amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a while, but I struggled with this one, wanting to make sure I got it right. Hope you enjoy it.

“Hello Dean,” Cas said.

Dean jerked awake, sitting up in his bed in the bunker, and looked around. He knew this wasn’t right. He may have gone to bed drunk, but he knew damn well he’d been freezing his ass off in the desert with Garth when he’d dozed off.

“Cas, what the hell is going on? How did I get here?” Dean asked the angel, rubbing his hands over his eyes and through his hair.

“I brought you here Dean. We are here so that I may answer your question.”

Lifting an eyebrow, Dean looked at Cas, “What question? And did you just leave Garth alone out in the desert?”

“You asked me what the worst possible outcome was if you refused to lie with Michaela and sire a child by her. I have decided to show you the alternatives. I assure you Garth is fine, and you are still there with him. We are merely in your subconscious,” Cas explained patiently.

Dean stared at him with his mouth hanging open for a moment. Cas was going to show him the future? Like Zachariah had, he thought. Getting up from the bed already fully clothed, he looked over at Cas.

“Ok, first of all, don’t ever say ‘lie with Michaela’ or ‘sire a child’ ever again. Like, ever,” Dean muttered. “Fine, I’ll bite. You wanna show me how bad I’m gonna fuck up my life by not hooking up with Mike? Go for it. But I’m telling you now this is not gonna make any damn difference. My life is already fucked up. One more bad decision isn’t going to change anything.”

The angel nodded in understanding and reached up to tap his forehead. Instantly the hunter found himself in the bunker’s library. A myriad of voices surrounded him from every direction, multiple adults and children. Dean turned in a circle, trying to orient himself. An unfamiliar woman’s voice came from the kitchen. On the far side of the library, the shelves had been moved and a sort of den and play area had been carved out. A TV on the wall played a Disney movie while some children played on a large rug in front of it. A couple couches and an overstuffed armchair encircled the area. Along one wall was a low shelf filled with children’s books and bins of toys.

“Cas? What the hell is going on? Who are these people?” Dean asked.

“These people are your family Dean, if you choose to fulfill the prophecy and accept Michaela,” Cas explained patiently.

The hunter looked around with new eyes taking everything in. Immediately he went over to the play area to look at the kids. He searched their faces, looking for anything familiar. Whose were they? Some had his hair, some Sammy’s eyes, but that could happen with kids right? They could end up with traits from your siblings. He watched them quietly as they played with their toys and took in the animated movie on TV. Dean heard a voice he recognized, coming from the other side of the library. Sammy!

“Alright kids, time for bed. Let’s go, everyone,” Sam said. The kids grumbled and protested, but did as they were told while his brother stood guard with his arms crossed.

From the hallway, Dean heard Mike’s voice calling out, “John Michael! Mary Jo! Hurry and I’ll read you a story before bed.” He gulped, watching a little boy and girl jump up from the rug, drop their toys into a bin and run off toward her voice. They couldn’t have been more than 3 or 4, toddling down the hall as fast as their little legs could take them.

“Are… are they mine?” Dean whispered hoarsely. Cas nodded at him. They continued to watch as Sam lifted up two older boys, maybe seven or eight, tossing one over each shoulder as he ignored their complaints of not being sleepy and hauled them off down the hall. The only child remaining was a little girl, maybe six or seven, sitting in the armchair with her nose in a book that looked to be for a much older child.

Dean knelt by her side, getting as close as he dared. She had Sammy’s eyes, and dark brown curls. He could barely breathe as he gazed at her in awe. Was she his brother’s? Was it possible, could they really have all of this? The woman from the kitchen walked over, carrying a small boy wearing Spiderman footie pajamas and holding a bottle.

“Bobbie? Come on sweetie, it’s time for bed,” she said. The small girl looked up and nodded with knowing eyes. She scurried to the bookshelf to put away her book then went over to take the hand of the dark haired woman.

“Bobbie is six and quite intelligent for her age. She shows remarkable aptitude for languages. Your brother has already begun to teach her basic Latin,” the angel explained. “Would you like to meet all the children?”

Dean raised his brows and grinned. It was fitting to name at least one after Bobby, and he could just imagine the old hunter’s reaction at getting a girl named after him. Wait, Cas had said all. How many were there? He just nodded silently as Cas tapped his shoulder, bringing him to the back hallway of the bunker where the spare bedrooms were.

They stood in front of an open door, obviously the boys’ room, decorated with racecars and superheroes. On the left was a set of bunk beds where Sam was trying valiantly to get the two older boys to settle down. On the right, Mike was just tucking John Michael into his toddler bed.

There was so much, the hunter didn’t know what to look at first. Overwhelmed wasn’t even the word. This vision of domesticity was beyond anything he’d ever dreamed of, and quite frankly, overwhelming.

“Cas…” he asked, unable to finish the thought.

Castiel stepped closer to Dean and began to explain his family to him. “The small boy with Michaela is John Michael. He’s three and has a twin sister named Mary Jo. They are yours and Michaela’s. The boy in the top bunk is Henry. He’s seven and Sam’s eldest son. In the lower bunk is David, he’s eight and your oldest.”

As Cas spoke Sam and Michaela finished tucking the kids in and left the room, allowing Dean the opportunity to gaze at the them in awe. Sniffling, he rubbed his hands across his eyes, trying to take it all in. John Michael cuddled with an angel teddy bear. David reassuring Henry that he hadn’t gone anywhere in the dark and allowing him to jump down and crawl into bed next to him, just the way Sam had done with Dean so many years ago.

“Where’s Mary Jo?” he asked. Gesturing down the hall, Dean followed the angel to the next room, this one obviously feminine but not overly so. It had simple white beds with blue and purple comforters and pillows. Stuffed animals were strewn everywhere, along with books and toys. The little girl was asleep in one of the beds, spread out like a starfish and he had to laugh. She slept like Sammy. He wanted to tuck her in himself, but Cas shook his head, explaining they were only there to observe.

Just then Bobbie arrived with the dark haired woman. She went about deciding on a stuffed moose to sleep with then crawled into her bed and snuggled in.

“Bobbie is Sam’s second eldest and your only niece. The small boy is his youngest, Joshua,” Cas told him.

So Sam had Henry, Bobbie, and Joshua and he had David, John Michael, and Mary Jo, he counted in his head. “Holy shit Cas, we each have three kids? Really?” Dean asked incredulously. He had never thought he’d have any. The thought of three was mind boggling.

Castiel shook his head, “No, actually you have four.”

Dean’s eyes widened. There was another one? Where?

Cas led the way back out into the hall, this time heading towards his bedroom. The door was closed and the angel gestured for him to go in. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he took a deep breath and turned the knob. Stepping inside, he barely recognized it. The walls had been painted in the same way all the bedrooms had, but this one was a pale powder blue. What caught his attention though, was the bed. White and wrought iron, it was covered in a vivid blue and white quilt. Lying on the bed, was his future self, flat on his back, one arm tucked under his head and the other steadying the infant asleep on his chest.

Dean walked over and knelt by the bed, peering at the baby silently. His own green eyes blinked open and stared back at him, almost forcing him to fall backward. She wiggled on his future self’s chest, pushing off her little blanket and revealing two perfect little white wings. Dean gasped. She was a Nephilim, like her mother.

“Cas, I didn’t see wings on the other kids, is she…”

“Yes Dean, she has inherited her mother’s Nephilim traits. All of the children have in one way or another. The other children are old enough to know how to tuck their wings out of sight. She’s still too young. Her name is Cassie Hope. She, uh, she was named after me,” the angel said shyly.

Dean gulped silently, taking in her golden curls and rosebud mouth. She looked like she belonged on a frickin’ Valentine’s Day card; a perfect little cherub. Hearing a soft snore, he looked up at his future self’s face. There were dark circles under his eyes and a two day shadow on his chin, but still he held the baby carefully, protectively.

“I look tired Cas. Guess a newborn is no picnic huh?” Dean whispered.

“No, Dean,” Castiel replied. “It’s not, even if she is your fourth. The older children require your time too. This future is not without its challenges, but it is a good one and you are happy here.”

Dean nodded, rubbing his hand across his eyes. He knew taking care of kids wasn’t easy, hell he’d taken care of Sammy all those years, but it was worth it. The door opening caught his attention, and he saw Michaela walk in and smile at future-Dean, asleep on the bed. She walked over and slid her hands under the sleeping baby to move her. His future-self startled awake, then allowed a slow grin to slide onto his face.

“Hey baby, everyone in bed?” Future-Dean asked sleepily.

“Yes,” she replied quietly, placing the baby in a crib against the wall and pressing a kiss to her brow, “Everyone but us.”

Future-Dean rolled off the bed, pulling the quilt down then crawling back in. Lying back on the pillows, he pulled back the covers on her side of the bed and patted it in an open invitation as he waggled his eyebrows and grinned. Mike rolled her eyes and shook her head sadly at her husband, climbing into bed and curling up against him in her sleep pants and Captain America T-shirt. They smiled at each other, holding tight and whispering “I love you’s” that eventually devolved into soft sleepy kisses.

> _Hearing a little whimper from the crib across the room, Dean sighed into his wife's mouth tiredly. "Whose idea was it to have another kid again?" he wondered aloud._
> 
> _"That would be you. Something about a basketball team. I tried to put my foot down but you can be very persuasive when you want to be," Mike grinned._
> 
> _Dean grinned back at her wickedly. "Well, we still need one more for that basketball team," he whispered in her ear while sliding his hands under her pajamas._
> 
> _Michaela slapped at his hands and pulled him in for a kiss. "Next one, you're carrying darlin'. I'm done," she said, trying to stifle her laughter at the look of horror on his face. She didn't want to wake the baby again._

The hunter stood there, feeling his heart beat louder and harder in his chest, feeling the pressure surround him and the tears begin to form in his eyes. His future self was older, a few more wrinkles and maybe a hint of gray showing in his hair, but there was no doubt that he was looking at a happy and contented man. He had his golden girl sleeping in his arms and his kids safe in their beds. Sammy was married too and had his babies and a wife and damn that Bobbie was going to be a firecracker just like her daddy.

“I get it Cas,” Dean whispered hoarsely, gulping back the lump in his throat. “If I say yes I win the frickin’ lotto. I get Mike and the kids and a big happy family. But what about their futures, huh? What are our kids going to be forced into? I won’t sentence them to a life like mine. They don’t deserve that.”

Cas stood there, staring at him in his way, seeming to debate what he should say to his hunter. Finally, he laid his hand on Dean’s shoulder, “Perhaps you would like to see what would happen if you made a different choice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really need comments here. What did you guys think of my idea of Dean's ideal future?


	9. Days of Future Dean, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas shows Dean another alternate reality. Angst and jealousy ensue. Did I mention Dean is the jealous type?

Dean felt a tug that forced his eyes closed. When he opened them he was back in his room, but this time it was his room the way he’d left it, with guns on the wall and a plain blanket on the bed. Still, there were some things that were different. It was dusty, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time and everything seemed older and faded. There was the smell of stale alcohol and he looked over to see a small trash can full of empty beer cans.

Looking over at Cas with a questioning look, Dean forced himself to ask, “Is this if I say no?”

Castiel nodded silently as children’s voices echoed down the hall in the distance. Dean looked up, surprised. He bolted for the door, running towards the back bedrooms to look for the kids. Stopping first at the boys’ room, he rushed in to find it very different. There were only two beds, a twin where David sprawled, snoring softly, and a toddler bed with little Joshua tucked in around a stuffed moose.

“Where’s Henry?” Dean asked, starting to panic.

“There is no Henry, Dean,” Cas replied patiently.

He turned suddenly and pushed Castiel out of the way, running down the hall for the girls’ room. Choking back a sob deep in his throat, he leaned against the wall by the door and slid to the ground.

Bobbie was in her bed reading a book that was surely meant for a high school student. Across the room was a little white crib where he could see baby Cassie, her little wings fluttering her blanket as she slept.

“What the hell is going on Cas? I said no. Which means none of my kids should be here, just Sam’s. But there’s Cassie and my David but Sam’s oldest is missing. How?” he demanded, his voice breaking.

Sighing, Cas explained that just because Dean had decided to not father children didn’t mean the children were not born per se, “It works the same way as when Michael wanted you as his vessel. You were the best option, but not the only one. Your brother Adam worked just as well in that case, and in this case, it was Sam. There are fewer children however, at least thus far.”

Dean felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. These kids were Michaela’s… and Sammy’s? Henry, little David’s best friend, would never exist, and there was no John Michael or Mary Jo. He made this decision to prevent any of his kids from having a life like his, and instead he’d just allowed Sam to take on that responsibility. Now it was his brother’s kids that would have to fight, and he was, where? Based on the state of his bedroom, long gone, he guessed.

Sam walked in, taking Bobbie’s book from her little hands gently and announcing it was time for bed. Tucking her in, he reassured her that there were no monsters hiding under her bed but agreed to crawl under it just in case, making banging sounds as if he was searching. The little girl giggled at her silly daddy and Dean couldn’t help but smile. He always knew Sam would make a great dad. Michaela walked in then, finding the big man crammed half under the bed. She laughed at him and went to check the baby.

Dean watched the two of them work together like an experienced team, tucking in covers, turning on nightlights, kissing foreheads goodnight. As Mike checked Cassie one last time, Sam came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She looked up and smiled at him, accepting his kiss easily and quickly agreeing when he suggested going back to their bedroom.

Dean jumped up from where he’d been slouched on the floor, new and disturbing thoughts running through his mind. Michaela and Sammy had kids. Kids meant they were together, as in _together_ together, like a couple. As in sleeping in the same bed and kissing and touching and _oh my God my brother hooked up with my girl?!_ Dean found himself running down the hall to Sam’s old room. Son of a bitch. The bed, the white wrought iron one with the blue quilt, was in Sammy’s room.

And there was Sam, kissing the breath out of Michaela, arms and hands sliding over each other and under clothes. Dean wasn’t sure he could take this. How did future-Dean do it? He really didn’t want to watch, ok so in other circumstances he’d totally be into this, but this was _Sam and Michaela_. Ew. Yet, he couldn’t tear his eyes away, not even realizing there were tears beginning to form in his eyes. Again.

“You were quite clear with Michaela that you would never change your mind,” Cas explained. “You remained away from the bunker for weeks at a time, during which she and Sam formed a strong bond. They are not soul mates, but there is much love. They did ask for your blessing, which you gave, although you refused to attend the wedding.”

“Where was I?” Dean asked, turning his back to the couple and realizing that his future self probably couldn’t watch his soul mate and his brother hook up any more than he could.

“I believe you were passed out drunk at a bar outside Austin. In fact you are quite often inebriated now, even when you come to visit, but that isn’t often. They worry about you. Michaela loves Sam but there will always be a connection with you,” the angel said.

Behind him, Dean heard whispered voices coming from the bed. Peeking to see if it was safe to turn around, he saw the couple curled up together and snuggled under the quilt, Mike’s head resting on Sam’s shoulder. Current-Dean stepped forward to hear the conversation better.

 

> _“How did he sound when you talked to him?” Michaela asked._
> 
> _Sam sighed, pushing his fingers through his hair, “The usual, tired and cranky. Hung over. No doubt he’ll show up tomorrow beat up, hungry and very drunk. I called Benny to come by and help me sober him up. I’ll need the extra hands.”_
> 
> _Mike nodded sadly, knowing Sam was right, “He’s in pain. I can feel it, but I can’t do anything about it and all I want to do is help him…”_
> 
> _“Stop it Mike. Just stop,” Sam said, using his fingers to push her chin up until she was looking into his eyes. “You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”_
> 
> _She nodded in understanding, closing her eyes and kissing her husband. “I know it’s hard for you, knowing I still have this connection with him, but you do understand that I love you don’t you? That what I feel for him is completely different?” she asked._
> 
> _Sam pressed his forehead to his wife’s, sharing her breath and searching for the right words to calm her fears. “I know you love both of us,” he whispered. “Me as your husband, and him, well, as someone you once loved and still care for. I wish I had that connection with you that he has, I do, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I do know that I’m incredibly lucky to be with you. He may be my brother but he’s a damn fool for walking away and I thank Heaven every day that I was the man you fell in love with after what he did.”_

 

Dean stood there, watching them and hearing the words as it slowly broke his heart. Feelings of guilt and worthlessness flooded his brain.

“I’m no good Cas. Everyone, everything I touch goes south,” he whispered sadly, as if what he was seeing was actually happening. He knew it wasn’t but that didn’t stop him from realizing this was just like him, running and drowning his sorrows in alcohol like his father had. Even when he’d tried to do the right thing by his future kids, Dean had managed to fuck up Sam’s future in the process.

“Dean,” Cas said, “You saw yourself that you have the opportunity to be happy with Michaela. Why do you doubt that?”

“Because I’m a screw-up Cas! I’ve run from every relationship I’ve ever had. How do I know I won’t say yes to her, then bail when it gets tough? Who would take care of her and the kids then? I’d leave Mike and Sammy to pick up the pieces for me. Hell no. I couldn’t even finish high school, how am I supposed to promise her forever?” Dean yelled.

“Oh Dean. Why do you think so little of yourself?” Castiel asked, reaching over and touching his forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments people! Need comments!


	10. Days of Future Dean, Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas forces Dean to come face to face with his worst fears.

Dean opened his eyes after a moment and found himself back in the Den/Library. It was night, dark and quiet, with only a floor lamp by one of the sofas glowing softly. Cas looked toward the sofa and he followed the angel’s lead, walking closer. As he neared, he was finally able to look over the back of the sofa, and what he saw stopped him in his tracks. Mary Jo, curled up on Benny’s chest and John Michael sprawled across the cushions, his head resting on Benny’s lap. Hell of a babysitter Mike.

The front door opened behind Dean and he looked up and over his shoulder to see Sam and Michaela walk in, tired and bloody from a hunt. After telling each other good night, Sam left for his room and Mike walked over to the sofa to gaze down at the sleeping trio. She walked around and knelt by the sofa, whispering for Benny to wake-up.

Benny’s eyes flickered open and that slow smile of his spread across his face. “Hey darlin’ you just get back?” he asked.

Mike nodded and offered to take one of the kids. Benny refused, pushing her towards a hot shower while he expertly maneuvered both sleeping toddlers into his arms.

The hunter looked at Cas, but his face was unreadable. The twins were back in this reality, and they weren’t Sammy’s, but Dean could tell there was something different here. Dammit, the angel was going to make him figure this out on his own. He followed Benny into the boys’ room, watching him deposit John Michael into his bed and cover him up one handed. Obviously he’d had some practice at this. The next stop was the girls’ room, where he laid Mary Jo into her toddler bed gently, tucking her in and whispering for her to go back to sleep when she whimpered sleepily.

Dean wasn’t exactly sure where this was going but he felt his hackles rising and tingling on the back of his neck as he followed the vampire into his old room. There was the white bed, but instead of the quilt was a simple blue striped bedspread. Something wasn’t right and he could already feel a fist squeezing his heart. Dean watched Benny putter around the room, turning down the bed covers, flicking on a lamp and turning off the overhead light.

Michaela walked in fresh from a shower, her hair still damp and piled on her head, and wearing a black nightie that barely grazed her knees. Dean swallowed hard. Damn. He’d never had the opportunity to see her in something like that.

> _And you might never, his subconscious reminded him._
> 
> _Shut up!_
> 
> _Chicken shit._
> 
> _I said shut the hell up!_

Shit, now Dean was having an argument with himself. And losing.

While Dean had been arguing with himself, Mike had gotten into bed. After a moment, he watched in absolute horror as Benny slid in next to her, confirming all of his fears. The vampire was his friend, considered him his brother, but the thought of him with his girl made his stomach curl and tighten. He kept quiet to listen to their conversation.

> _“How were the kids while we were gone?” Michaela asked, yawning._
> 
> _“Rowdy little hell raisers as usual, just like their parents. And they missed you, but you know they’re a good bunch,” Benny told her, grinning._
> 
> _Mike chuckled softly, stretching her arms over her head, then rolling over to curl up next to the vampire. Whispering softly so that Dean had to strain to hear, Mike asked Benny if he’d called._
> 
> _Benny allowed his eyes to slide closed for a moment, visibly hurt but not wanting her to see it. He pulled Mike closer, whispering into her damp hair that no, Dean had not called his kids._
> 
> _Looking up at his face, Mike nodded and smiled sadly, rubbing her hand along Benny’s jaw, “I’m sorry. I had to ask. Why are you so good to me and my family?” she asked._
> 
> _Benny smiled down at her, “Well, I suppose at first it was because Dean’s my brother and his family was in need,” he drawled. “But you know why now. It’s because I love you. And those rowdy kids of yours. Ya’ll are my family now too.”_
> 
> _Michaela reached up to kiss him softly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, “I’m sorry I can’t love you back the way you deserve. The way I know you love me.”_
> 
> _Benny moved, rolling her onto her back and following so he was leaning over Mike. “You got nothin’ to apologize for darlin’. I know your kind mate for life, and Dean was it for you. Hell, you got three kids to prove it. All I want is whatever little bit of love you can spare, because that’s all I need,” he told her._
> 
> _Reaching her arms around his neck, Mike pulled Benny down for another kiss, this one stronger and more passionate than the last, a suggestion for exactly what she wanted from him now._

Across the room, Dean choked back a sob. He was a deadbeat dad, and probably a drunk too. Benny and Sammy were having to step in and help Michaela raise his kids because he was too much of a chicken shit to man up and do it himself. Which made John Winchester sound like goddamn father of the year.

“You left when the twins were about six months old, “Cas explained. “You, Sam and Michaela had gone on a hunt, her first since the birth, and she was injured and nearly died. You told her you refused to be a curse to her and the children and would not wait around to watch them die. The children miss you. She misses you. But she has found some small measure of contentment with Benny.”

Dean was a mess. His mind swirling with the knowledge of what he could do, what he was capable of. Was he really so weak as to leave her and the kids behind? Stumbling out of the room, he began to run, down the hall and away from the room that held his beloved golden girl, wrapped in Benny’s arms. Falling into the bathroom, he promptly threw up what was left of his greasy dinner and half a 12 pack of beer.

Rinsing his mouth, he wiped it dry with the back of his hand and slumped to the floor, propping his elbows on his knees. Dean’s eyes slid closed, trying desperately to erase the vision of Mike and Benny together in bed. Their words came back to haunt his thoughts: “I love you,” “You’re my family now,” “Dean was it for you. You got three kids to prove it.”

Wait, three kids? Cassie. Son of a bitch, there had been no crib in their room, or in the kids’ rooms either. Jumping up and grabbing Castiel by the lapels of his coat, Dean shook him once, then twice, “Where’s the baby Cas? Where the hell is Cassie?!”

Cas shook his head sadly, “There is no Cassie, Dean. You left just after the twins were born, remember?”

Dean let go then, turning his back on the angel and slumping his shoulders. “You manipulative bastard. Take me back Cas, please just take me back,” he begged, shaking his head. “I can’t take seeing this anymore. It’s too much. You knew it would be too much for me to see.”

“Dean, I wanted you to see what your idea of reality would look like, what it could result in. You could have everything you ever wanted, if you only accepted it,” Cas said sadly. “Instead you insist that your absence is best for everyone involved and it isn’t. It most definitely isn’t what’s best for you or Michaela.”

“And what makes you think you know what the hell I want? Huh Cas?” Dean demanded, looking back at him. “What makes you think that after everything I’ve been through that I would ever consider a wife and kids and the apple pie life? I tried it with Lisa remember? And I couldn’t stand it and bailed on her, remember?”

“I know what you want because I know you Dean,” Cas said gruffly, getting angry now and going toe to toe with the hunter. “You left Lisa and Ben because you felt you were putting their lives in danger and they were not familiar with the hunting life, not because you didn’t enjoy being in their lives. They didn’t know how to protect themselves. When I dragged you out of hell I put you back together, piece by piece and cell by cell.”

“You think I don’t know what your dreams are?” Castiel demanded, pressing his hands onto the hunter’s chest and shoving him into the wall. “All you want, all you’ve ever wanted, is a family of your own. Children you could call your own. A partner you could love, who would love you back and not be afraid of you or what you do. Bobby always told you that family doesn’t end in blood and you know that’s true. You and Sam have built your own unconventional family of strays over the years, collecting people into a pseudo-family of hunters and misfits. Charlie, Garth, Benny, they are all your family now Dean. The only thing left is a partner for yourself. Why won’t you let yourself be happy?”

By the time the angel had finished yelling, he was red-faced and clutching at Dean’s shoulders, shaking him, letting the hunter’s head bang against the wall. Maybe it would knock some sense into him.

Dean’s face crumpled, tears streaming down his face. “Who the hell would ever want me Cas?” he croaked sadly, shaking his head. “I’m broken. Alastair made sure of that when he broke me in Hell. You know how many souls that son of a bitch made me torture! I’m no better than him. I’m a goddamn monster Cas and as soon as Michaela sees that she’ll run from me.”

The angel understood now. He should have realized all along. This wasn’t about Dean being scared of happiness or togetherness or “chick flick” moments. This was about him being afraid of loving someone only to have that person walk away when they knew his history. That was why he always walked away, to make sure he left first, before they could see his damaged, tortured soul.

Shuffling forward, Castiel opened his arms and awkwardly wrapped them around Dean. The man stiffened for a moment and then let go, allowing his head to rest on his angel’s shoulder, sniffling into the familiar trench coat and fisting his hands into the fabric at the angel’s back. After a few minutes, Dean’s tears slowed and the sniffling lessened, but he still couldn’t will himself to let go. Not yet.

“Umm, Cas…”

“Don’t worry Dean. I won’t tell Sam about our chick flick moment.”


	11. Sometimes Sorry Isn't Good Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean heads back to the bunker to find Sam and Michaela very chummy so he turns on the charm to win her back. Not the best plan ever.

Sam and Michaela stumbled into the bunker mid-morning, exhausted, cranky and hungry. Captain and Royal immediately ran up barking and wriggling in excitement, obviously thrilled they were back. The hunters petted both, reassuring them that they weren’t going anywhere, at least for the foreseeable future, and trudged down the hall to their rooms. Shower, sleep, food, not necessarily in that order, Mike thought, falling onto her bed.

Down the hall, Sam did the same, falling into a deep sleep almost immediately. After a few moments, Royal came trotting down the hall, his nails clacking on the tile floor. Nosing his way into Sam’s room, he jumped up onto the bed, circling once, then twice, before settling against the hunter’s broad back. He was officially part of the pack now. Sam was family.

* * *

Dean woke the next morning with the kind of hangover that made him wish his head really did have the ability to explode so it would just get it over with. Garth was already up and cheerfully devouring the greasy breakfast he’d gone to get. How was he not miserable and hung over too?

Staring up at the morning sky, Dean thought about everything that had happened the night before, in his head at least. He went over every detail, trying to memorize and ingrain them into his memory. Mike’s laugh, the kids’ faces, these were good memories that he could have someday. Assuming he let himself have them.

Dean Winchester was a lot of things, borderline alcoholic and womanizer included, but he sure as hell was no coward. So where to start? It pained him to think about it, but he supposed the first thing to do would be to go back to the bunker and apologize. Just the thought made him nauseous. Time to man up Winchester, he thought, you know what you have to do to make this right.

Grabbing his phone, Dean tapped out a text to Sam. _Heading to bunker. Be there in a couple days._ There, that wasn’t so hard was it, he asked himself. Bleary eyed, he crawled out of his sleeping bag and sat up. Garth tossed him his breakfast and they sat, eating in silence.

“I’m heading back to the bunker,” Dean said.

Garth looked up at him, surprised. “Sure man, no problem-o! I’ll call Benny and ask him to help me out with that poltergeist down in Oklahoma,” he said, smiling.

At the mention of the vampire, Dean cringed inwardly. The image of him making out with his girl wasn’t going to be something he could just forget, even if it really didn’t happen. Nodding at the other hunter, he finished his food and began to pack up. Now that he’d made up his mind, at least as far as what his first step would be, he was ready to get it done and there was no time like the present.

* * *

Late afternoon found Michaela stumbling out of her room in her pajamas in search of food. Walking into the kitchen, she found Sam standing in front of the refrigerator with the door open.

“You know, the food doesn’t change if you stare at it hard enough,” Mike grinned.

Looking up, Sam smiled back, laughing and taking leftovers out. “I know, just couldn’t decide what I wanted. You sleep ok?” he asked.

She nodded in confirmation, pulling out plates and sitting at the table to share the bounty of leftovers he’d found. They found a companionable silence together, finding no need for idle talk while eating. After cleaning up, they retired to their rooms to go back to sleep.

Moments later, Mike heard a knock on her door. Opening it, she found Sam standing there with an odd expression and holding his phone.

* * *

Dean didn’t stop for night until late. Now that he’d decided to go the bunker – to go home – he found himself wanting to get there as soon as possible. Stumbling into his room, he dropped his gear, pulled off his clothes and fell into bed. Maybe the last of his hangover would be gone by tomorrow.

* * *

The next morning, Sam found Michaela in the greenhouse, checking on her seedlings while the dogs chased birds in the garden. Walking in, he greeted her with a good morning, then sat on one of the tables, knawing at a thumbnail.

“Sam,” she said, not looking up from her watering, “I can hear you thinking from here. What’s wrong? Did you hear from Dean again?” Mike put the watering can down and turned to look at the big man, looking for all the world like an overgrown toddler with his hair in his eyes and his thumb in his mouth.

“What? No, nothing more from Dean. I assume he’ll be here sometime this evening,” he said. “Actually, I was kind of wondering about something else. Everybody had a great time at Thanksgiving, it was my first real one. So umm, I was kinda wondering… could-we-go-all-out-for-Christmas-too?”

Mike smiled at the rushed ending to the question. Even with all they’d shared in the past few weeks, he still wasn’t sure about asking her for this.

“Sure Sam, I’d love to, but do you think it’ll be ok with Dean?” she asked, “This is his place too and I don’t want him to think I’m taking over or invading his space.”

Sam waved away her worries, telling her to leave Dean to him. With that declaration, the two immediately fell into a discussion on how to decorate and who to invite. By noon, the two of them were at a Christmas tree lot, loading a brand new Douglas fir into the back of Tory. Next stop: grocery store. Christmas was about family and food, so if family was coming they were going to need a lot of food. Besides, it was hard to get into the holiday mood without cookies and hot chocolate. And Christmas movies. And lights, lots of lights.

* * *

Dean stumbled into the bunker around midnight that night. He’d overslept and gotten a later start than he’d wanted and now he was exhausted. Trotting down the stairs, he dropped his gear and looked up, only to feel his heart stop in his chest. Across the room, at the far end of the library, was a big TV, with a sofa and armchair sitting in front of it. The end of a Christmas movie played on, but he heard no other sounds.

Walking carefully over to sofa, he peeked over and saw Mike and Sam, sound asleep with her head resting on his shoulder. A plate of cookies and empty mugs told him they’d made themselves comfortable and had been there for a while. In the corner was an enormous Christmas tree, half decorated, with a pile of lights nearby. Apparently they’d been busy. Ugh! Don’t think about them getting busy, he told himself.

Sam stirred and stretched, looking up to see his big brother standing over him and looking a little shell shocked.

“Hey Dean,” Sam said sleepily, “You just get in?” Beside him, Michaela began to wake up and moved off his shoulder to sit up.

“Um, yeah. Just got here. What’s all this?” Dean asked, gesturing to the tree and the furniture.

“Oh, well this stuff is Mike’s Christmas gift to us. She said we needed a TV area so we wouldn’t have to hang out in my room and sit on my bed all the time to watch something,” Sam explained.

Visions of Mike and Sam cuddled on Sam’s bed made Dean’s head spin and he tried not to show his reaction to his brother.

One of the things Dean’s dreams had not told him was how he’d walked away from Mike, what he’d done to her specifically or what Sam had done to get her to fall for him for that matter. Shit. He should have asked Cas. Time to retreat and regroup, he thought, telling them he was going to bed and walking towards his room.

Behind him, Sam and Michaela looked at each other in confusion. Dean had taken the new furniture and decorations better than they’d thought, but he had suddenly gotten upset and stormed off for no apparent reason. Oh well. If he was pissed off about something he would tell them about it soon enough.

* * *

The next afternoon, Dean finally got up the guts to leave his room, intent on making things right before it was too late. Walking into the library, he realized Mike was there putting up the last of the ornaments on the tree.

“Umm… you need any help?” he asked, hesitantly.

Michaela looked at him, surprised and perhaps a little suspicious. Finally she nodded and gestured to another box on the chair. He grabbed the box and ripped it open. Adding hooks to the little bright colored balls, he walked up to the tree and began hanging them haphazardly. Dean half expected her to correct him and move them, but she didn’t. She just continued to observe his efforts from the corner of her eye. After a few minutes of working in silence, Dean cleared his throat, getting Mike’s attention.

“Listen, umm, Mike, I uh, I owe you an apology,” he muttered, unable to look her directly in the eye. “I, uh, I’m not good with this emotional chick flick crap but I know I acted like a jackass and I’m sorry. So, uh, yeah.”

Michaela raised her brows at the apology. She honestly hadn’t been expecting one, considering his self-righteous departure and his grumpy arrival.

“Are you apologizing for turning me down or for turning me down and being a total douche about it?” she asked. “And are you trying to tell me you’ve changed your mind?”

Looking up and meeting her eyes for the first time, he realized there was no anger there, just curiosity and some understandable wariness. Reaching out, he took the box of ornaments from her hands and set it on the floor along with his. Looking back at her, he took her hand in his and tried to find the words to tell her what he wanted. That he loved her and wanted her and everything that went along with it. That they had free will, and if he and Sam could flip the script on the apocalypse then they could damn well do it again to keep their kids from harm. But that’s not what came out of his mouth.

“I changed my mind. Let’s do this. Whatever happens afterwards happens. We’ll deal with it,” he said. Her eyes grew wide at this and her mouth dropped open. Breaking eye contact, she pulled her hand away and stepped back.

“Let’s do this? Whatever happens _happens_?” she asked incredulously. “You think you can turn me down, treat me like I have no say in this, bail on me and then just waltz in here after weeks away and say ‘honey I’m home’ and expect me to come running like the good little wife? Oh hell no!”

This was not going as Dean had hoped for. He’d thought she’d be relieved, grateful even. Figuring in time to get the guts to apologize and tell her he’d changed his mind, plus listening to her talk, he’d figured they’d get to the makeup sex in about half an hour. But considering she was now pacing the room and working herself up into a fury, he didn’t think that was going to be happening any time soon.

“What did you think?” she demanded, hand on her hips. “That I was hanging around here just waiting patiently for you to get your head out of your ass? That I’d hear that you changed your mind and fall all over myself welcoming you home?”

Dean tried to answer, but that hit way too close to home so he closed his mouth.

“Dean, I love you, I do, but you’re an idiot. I have multiple degrees and over fifteen years hunting experience. I don’t _need_ you. I came here so we could discuss our options and see if this was something we wanted to pursue or not. To see if you felt the same way about me. I’m looking for a partner, not a sperm donor so I can turn into a barefoot and pregnant incubator,” she stated. Turning with a huff, she stormed off, only to run into Sam at the doorway.

Sam was afraid to ask what was wrong as she stormed past. He saw his older brother sigh and throw himself onto the sofa on his back just as Mike’s bedroom door slammed shut. Walking over to the hunter, he stared down, knowing he was going to regret this. Sam nudged his brother’s foot that still rested on the ground but all he got was a grunt in return. Sighing and sitting over on the armchair, Sam waited for him to explain.

Finally, Sam heard Dean muttering something. “What?” he asked.

“I apologized to Mike. And told her I was willing to, you know, get together and have kids and stuff,” Dean muttered. “But she got mad instead. I thought she’d be happy.”

Sam hung his head. How could his intelligent, badass of a brother be so stupid sometimes?

“Dean, you told her you didn’t want to have anything to do with her,” Sam explained. “Then you left in the middle of the night and didn’t come back for weeks. Sorry isn’t good enough. Ugh, you are such an idiot sometimes.”

Dean heard his younger brother storm off, then moments later another door slam. Well, that went well. At least everyone agreed he was an idiot. Even him.

* * *

The following days weren’t much better than that first one for Dean, although he did try. He made dinner most evenings and helped out with the Christmas decorating without complaining. Ok, so he didn’t complain a lot. Even the dogs looked at him with skepticism, giving him a wide berth, which Dean didn’t mind so much. What he did mind was the easy way Michaela and his brother were when they were together. The way they talked and interacted like they’d been friends for years and not weeks just rubbed him the wrong way. Was this the beginning of something more for them?

Ok, so no need to panic he thought. I know she loves me, I just need her to forgive me. Easy right? Dean Winchester can get any girl he wants (although he didn’t have any luck with Kali, but that turned out to be a good thing and we don’t talk about that) so I sure as hell can get her to give me another chance. Right? Right.

Wrong. Everything Dean tried went wrong. He bought her a dozen roses and wrote ‘I’m Sorry’ on a card and left it on the dining room table for her to find. After not hearing anything from her for a couple hours he went back and found that all the petals had been plucked off. Apparently roses have medicinal properties and she was going to grind them up into a paste. All that was left was the sad stems going limp in the vase.

So, something more personal might work he thought. Next he tried making her a fancy dinner, lobster with all the trimmings. When Dean called her into the kitchen and showed her what he’d done, her reaction was rather anticlimactic and definitely not what he expected.

“I don’t eat seafood,” she said, walking out, “Hey Sam! You want to share a pizza or are you going to eat what Dean made?”

A few minutes later, Sam found Dean sitting in the kitchen with his head buried in his arms. “Sammy, what am I gonna do? How many times can I apologize before she gets over what I did and we can move on?” the older hunter asked. “Won’t she ever forgive me? Am I just wasting my time or what?”

Sam sat down next to his brother and smacked the back of his head.

“Ow!” his brother said, “What’d you do that for?”

“For being a goddamn idiot, that’s what for. Why are you trying to get on her good side with flowers and dinners? Because it works with every other girl?” the big man asked.

Dean had the grace to blush slightly since his baby brother had pretty much hit the nail on the head. This is what he knew how to do, it’s what he always did when a girl got pissed at him. Well, either that or walk away, there was always another girl somewhere, however that was not an option this time.

“Dean, why are you even doing this if you’re just half-assing it? Obviously you’ve changed your mind about the prophecy, and I don’t know why, but I’m pretty sure she thinks you’re only doing this to fulfill it out of some sense of duty,” Sam explained angrily. “You’re treating her like all your little drunken one night stands and she deserves better.”

Dean groaned and sat up. “I know Sammy! I know she does, but she won’t even talk to me. You’re good at all this romance crap. Tell me what to do!” he begged his brother.

Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair. He was not, under any circumstances, helping Dean romance Michaela, not after bailing on her. On the other hand his brother did look pretty miserable and his attempts at romance so far were sad and pathetic. The least he could do was take pity on him and point him in the right direction.

“Dean,” Sam asked quietly, “Why are you even doing this? What changed your mind?”

Dean squirmed a little in his chair, unsure if he should tell his brother about Cas and his dream and the possible futures they could have.

“I um, I talked to Cas. He basically told me to man up and go after what I want and to hell with the prophecy,” Dean said. That was pretty close to the truth right? Sure.

Sam nodded in understanding. “So what exactly is it that you want?” he asked.

Dean’s mouth fell open but no words came out. How could he explain what he’d seen? The emotions that had engulfed him at seeing his kids. At seeing Michaela so happy. Happy to be with him.

“You don’t even know what you want do you? You’re just doing this out of some sense of obligation,” Sam said accusingly.

“No! That’s not true,” the older hunter growled, getting madder at his brother by the minute. This was helping?

“Then why Dean? Tell me why you’re here!” the big man yelled back.

“Goddamn it Sammy I love her! I’ve loved her since I was thirteen,” Dean yelled at him, “Cassie and Lisa barely registered on the radar compared to her. What do I want? I want the whole fucking nine yards! I want kids and car seats in the Impala and PTA meetings and soccer games. I want the stupid picket fence and Sunday dinners and family get-togethers. And for the first time in my life I feel like I might be able to have that, and have it with her, but it took Cas to point it out to me in his own fucked-up-angel-way because I was too dense and stupid to realize it. So now I’m here trying to get her back and I’m sinking man. Everyday she’s getting further away from me and I don’t know what the hell to do.”

Sam nodded in understanding, staring at his big brother and the anguish on his face. “About goddamn time you realize you love her,” he said. “Ok, now I’ll help you, but I’m only going to point you in the right direction. I don’t want the intimate details.”

Dean looked back at him, surprised. Ok, so spilling your guts was apparently the only way to get some help around here. Great he thought, sinking back into his chair.

“Ok, first of all, give it up with the flowers and dinners and crap. She deserves better. Treat her like you would treat a good friend, someone you care about a lot, because you obviously do,” Sam explained patiently. “Do something for her or with her that interests her. Show her that you know her and are paying attention and that she’s more than just the ‘incubator’ for the prophecy. And that’s all I’m gonna say, so good luck.”

Dean sat silently, watching his little brother walk away. Ok, so now he knew what not to do. Which left him what? He was completely out of his element here. Ok, he told himself, he could do this. Just gotta think outside the box. Treat her like a good friend and show her you’re paying attention. He could do that. Jumping up from the table, he went to his room and booted up the laptop he kept there. This might take a little research.


	12. Time to Regroup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Mike's turn to run, and now Dean is confronted with just what he put her through when he left before.
> 
> Definitions:  
> Tesoro - treasure  
> carne guisada - usually stewed beef tips in gravy; literaly "stewed meat"  
> Tejas - Texas; historically considered to be an Indian word for "friend"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I had major writer's block for a while and rewrote this thing four times. It ended up going in a completely different direction than I thought it would. Hope you like it.

Michaela was gone.  


* * *

Taking Sammy’s advice into consideration, Dean had realized he needed to start fresh. He had searched Amazon for the same Mexican hot chocolate her grandmother used to make and even made a trip to a nursery, returning with a gift of small pots filled with kitchen herbs like Rosemary and Thyme.  


The next morning, Dean had walked into the kitchen and found the note on the fridge. Reading it, he ran back down the hall towards Michaela’s bedroom, calling her name. Sam ran up behind him, asking what was wrong, and all the older hunter could do was hand him her note.  


_Need some space. Be back soon. ~M_  


Turning and racing to the garage, Dean threw the door open and saw that Mike’s truck was still parked where she left it, right next to Baby. But she and Captain and Royal were gone, and to where was anybody’s guess. Shit. Could she travel like an angel? If she could, and did, she could be anywhere. There was nothing to do but wait.  


Trust Dean to fall in love with the one woman, Nephilim rather, more emotionally constipated than him.  


* * *

Michaela woke up in her own bed for the first time in weeks. It felt good to be back at the cabin, her own private sanctuary. She’d left late the night before, only taking a few personal items in a bag and grabbing the dogs by their leashes before tiptoeing out to the garage and flying them home.  


Rolling over, she peeked out the window for confirmation that it was a standard gray December day, overcast and windy. Sitting up, she pried her legs out from under the dogs, who raised their heads and smirked at her disapprovingly for disrupting their naps. Trying to get feeling back into her toes, she shuffled over to her closet for some jeans and a shirt, then dug in her dresser for a fresh pair of socks and underclothes.  


Mike hadn’t come back to the cabin because she was homesick. She was claustrophobic and panicking, something Dean had never inspired in her ever before, even when they had been together every night in their dreams. Actually, no man really had. If she felt closed in, it was just time to move on. But this time was different. He was trying so hard, too hard, to please her, but all she really wanted from him was honesty.  


Sighing, Mike finished getting dressed and pulled on her boots and a hoodie. Trotting down the front steps, she walked briskly around the side of the cottage and headed towards a sandstone cliff. After a few moments dodging around some brush, she found the trail she’d been looking for and increased her pace, the dogs following her lead. After about ten minutes of walking, the trail led them to a small open valley hidden between the rocky hills.  


Pausing for a moment to sit on a rock and catch her breath, Mike closed her eyes and concentrated. After a few minutes she heard hoof beats, getting louder and louder as they neared, until finally a beautiful chestnut stallion trotted into view. Her Uncle Frank had taught her how to call to animals with her gifts, and that knowledge did not fail her so many years later. He neared and butted her chest with his head in greeting, which Mike returned with smiles and pats and crooning endearments.  


“Hello _Tesoro_ , my beauty,” she whispered, “I’ve missed you. I feel like going for a run, what about you?”  


The stallion stamped a hoof and tossed his mane in a vain fashion, as if to say “Of course, I’ve been waiting for you.” Using the rock as a mounting block, she slid onto his back and settled in. Grabbing onto the horse’s mane, she gave a command and they were off, quickly escalating into a trot. Balanced on the back of _Tesoro_ gave Michaela the feeling of flying, the closest she supposed a human could ever experience, but then, she was no human.  


As they cleared the brush and burst fully into the open valley, Michaela’s massive golden brown wings opened and stretched to their full length. Pushing _Tesoro_ into a full gallop, she allowed the biting Texas wind to whip through her hair and feathers. This was freedom. It was pure and simple, mindless bliss, just feeling.  


Had anyone seen her from a distance it would have appeared as if a blonde woman was riding a Pegasus through the valley with two dogs hot on their trail. It’s a good thing they were still technically on her property. David, her grandfather, had inherited over a hundred acres and passed them onto her. All of its borders were warded for everything from demons to spirits. There were even angelic sigils that masked her presence when she was there.  


The properties surrounding hers did not worry her either. All of them were owned by old families, many as old as hers with over 150 years of residency in _Tejas_ , since long before it united under a single star. With that kind of time comes loyalty, and a fierce protectiveness for the latest generation in a long line of _Garcia Curanderas_ , male and female. No one other than her mother and grandparents knew precisely what she was, but it didn’t matter to the people here, who knew she was special even in her own family. She was theirs, just as much as the land and the history, and could always be counted on for assistance when she was called.  


After a while, Michaela slowed their pace to more safely pick through the rocks and brush as they traversed another valley. Her grumbling stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten yet and the phone pulled from her pocket told her it was pushing 1:00 pm. Turning _Tesoro_ onto a small side trail, they headed towards the highway and the small gas station/general store.  


Fifteen minutes later, the little caravan of nephilim, horse and two dogs arrived at a small wooden building with “Martinez and Sons General Store” painted on the glass front door. Tying off _Tesoro_ to a nearby scrub brush and ordering Captain and Royal to stay, Mike stepped into the store with a small ding. The men in the store looked up at her curiously. Most didn’t recognize her right off since she hadn’t been around much growing up. Until a few months ago David had been the one to visit regularly to cater to the locals.  


A teenage boy looked up from behind the counter and broke into a smile. David Martinez, known as Little David as he was her grandfather’s namesake, was just sixteen and recognized her right off. (Mike may have helped him with a little acne problem when she was here last. And maybe gave out some advice about girls.)  


“Hey Mike!” Little David called out, “Didn’t expect you back til after the holidays.”  


She smiled back at him and walked over to the counter. “Yeah I know,” she said, “But I wanted to check on the cabin. Heard you guys have been having some rough weather lately.”  


Little David nodded in understanding. “What can I do for ya?” he asked.  


“Well, I’m kinda hungry. Your grandma wouldn’t still make those great breakfast tacos she used to does she?”  


He grinned, “Of course she would. What kind you want?”  


After thinking for a moment, Mike ordered a _carne guisada_ taco and a potato, bacon and egg. Little David scurried off to tell his grandmother her order back in the kitchen. Peeking over the counter, she looked at the book he’d been reading, To Kill a Mockingbird.  


Smiling to herself, Michaela dropped some money on the counter and went to the cooler to grab a soda, the old fashioned kind in a glass bottle. Walking outside, she set the soda on the table on the front porch, then went around the side of the building. She remembered that Little David’s grandfather had always left a bucket hanging on the water spout, and she wasn’t disappointed this time either. Filling the bucket with water, she took it out front to her animals, telling them to share and not knock it over. They all peered at her with their big brown eyes, as if to say “Really? Duh!” and she just smiled to herself and went to sit at the table on the porch.  


In a few minutes Little David came out with her tacos and she invited him to sit and chat for a while.  


“I saw you were reading To Kill a Mockingbird,” she said.  


The boy sighed and rolled his eyes, “Yes. My new English teacher assigned it. I read that book when I was like ten! I’m just skimming it again to see if I forgot something. I was really hoping we’d get something more challenging.”  


Michaela grinned at him sympathetically, and nodded in understanding. The teenager may have looked average but he’d already skipped a couple grades and was taking all AP courses. She made a mental note to get him some books for Christmas, knowing that he probably didn’t make much working for his grandparents at the store.  


“I just got in last night,” Michaela said, between bites of her taco. “Anything I need to know about?”  


Little David thought for a moment, looking off into the distance. “I heard Grandma say Claudia’s little boy has been sick for a while now, colic. He’s only six months old I think. Mr. Schroeder is in the back playing dominoes with the rest of the men, but he’s driving us crazy. He should really be working, but his arthritis has been acting up so his son took over the business and he comes here every day. Then proceeds to drive us crazy by calling his son every hour to yell at him about all the bad decisions he’s making. Junior just turned fifty!”  


Mike smiled as she took a sip of her soda. She remembered Mr. Schroeder was grouchy in the best of circumstances. Achy and unable to work was something she did not want to experience. Finishing her lunch, she told the boy she’d be back with something for both of the babies, er, patients. In moments, she was back on _Tesoro_ and leading her little caravan back to the cabin.  


That afternoon, she returned to the store with herbs to be added to the baby’s bathwater to help him breather better and a salve for old Mr. Schroeder. It was evening now and she was curled up in an old glider chair on her back deck overlooking the river and nursing a Jack and Coke.  


Mike still didn’t know what to do about Dean, which was the whole reason she was here. Although, she did feel better after the day she’d had. Doing something for herself, and then for her people, those she considered part of her extended, overly large family, felt good, felt familiar. For the first time since before her grandfather had passed, she felt like her old self. She’d missed having a purpose. As the sun set, she pulled her blanket tighter around her and snuggled back into the glider chair, allowing its movements to lull her to sleep.  


* * *

Dean was in the garage. He’d decided to give his Baby a good cleaning to see if it would clear his mind. Once he was done, he realized that Mike’s truck was just sitting there, looking dusty from their last hunt. This was something he could do for her. Hmm, maybe he should ask permission first for this one. He knew he’d freak if anyone tried to touch his Baby without him knowing first.  


Running back into the bunker, he wandered around until he found Michaela in their new “den” area with her nose in a book. The picture she made caused him to pause for a moment, but who could fault him? The room was dim, with only the lamp and the Christmas tree for light, and it created a glowing halo around her blonde hair. She was curled up in the armchair, completely absorbed in whatever she was reading. And there was Christmas music coming from somewhere, but in a non-annoying jazzy incarnation that he’d never heard before.  


His mind wandered for a moment, imagining himself sitting in that chair instead, with her curled up in his lap or maybe with a baby in her arms instead of that book. He could almost see baby Cassie nodding off in her lap as her little wings fluttered, or the twins crammed into the chair on either side of her, begging for another story before bedtime.  


Shaking his head to clear it of the images in his mind, Dean cleared his throat to get Mike’s attention. Looking up from her reading, she fixed him with that stare, that angel stare that he’d only ever seen from Cas before. Oh shit and she was wearing glasses. Fucker! He did _not_ have a kink about girls with glasses. Little wire-rimmed ones that made them look like sexy librarians. Which _was not_ another kink of his. Son of a bitch.  


“Hello Dean,” she said softly, “Did you need something?”  


Did he need something? Umm, yeah he did, he just couldn’t remember what. Stupid glasses. Making him think of what he’d like to do to her to get them all fogged up, maybe in Baby’s backseat after they’d gone for a drive and parked somewhere in the middle of nowhere…  


“Dean. Dean,” a voice said. Wait, that wasn’t Mike’s voice. Who the hell was calling him?  


“Dean! Dammit man, wake up! You’re talking in your sleep,” Sam muttered.  


Dean sat up suddenly. Crap. It was all a dream. Ugh, his head. He vaguely remembered drinking a liquor store before passing out on the couch. Waving his hand at Sammy and flipping him off for waking him up in the first place, he stumbled to his room and crawled into his bed. Staring at the ceiling he suddenly realized he couldn’t go back to sleep, because all he could think of was Mike.  


His beautiful, strong, amazing Mike. And how he’d fucked it all up because he was an idiot and acted like an asshole. If only he could go back and tell her what he really wanted to say. I love you Mike, he thought as he finally began to doze off again. I really do.  


* * *

“Michaela. Michaela!” a voice whispered. Then a hand, touching her shoulder and gently shaking her awake. Looking up sleepily, her eyes widened in surprise.  


“Umm, hi,” Dean said sheepishly. “You ok?”  


Mike nodded, then looked around, realizing she was still on her back deck. Peering up at Dean, she cocked her head to the side and muttered, “You’re not really here are you?”  


Dean smiled, “No. Pretty sure I fell asleep in my bed back at the bunker, so it’s gotta be one of our dreams. Where are we anyway?”  
“You’re at my place,” she said. “This was my grandfather’s old hunting cabin.”  


Dean’s brows raised in surprise. She’d never brought him here in one of their dreams. Even when they were little they’d usually found a neutral location, or ended up curled up in one of their bedrooms. Or his hotel room, as the case may be.  


The hunter sat in the chair beside her, resting his elbows on his knees and staring down at his hands. His mind was racing, a jumble of thoughts and emotions that he’d been trying to work through all day, but he’d yet to get them completely straightened out. Finally, he decided that this was his chance, and all he could do was start at the beginning.  


“Did you… were you running away from me? Is that why you left?” Dean asked quietly, afraid to look up at her. “I know I can be a dick sometimes, ok a lot, but that’s on me. I just panicked and I ran. I… I never meant to hurt you. I never want to hurt you. I… I love you.”  


Michaela stared at his profile, watched him wring his hands, knowing just how difficult those words had been. This, this right here was what she’d been waiting for. For Dean to cast off the bravado and that goddamn cocky attitude and just talk to her. She knew he loved her, she just wasn’t sure if he knew it.  


“I don’t want you to be some kind of baby making machine or an incubator, like you said,” Dean continued. “This is about us. I’ve wanted to be with you for so long… Shit.” He ran his fingers through his hair when his voice cracked and finally looked up at her. Looking into her eyes and letting her see the tears in his that had yet to fall.  


“Fuck the prophecy, ok? I love you. I want us to be together and I know you do too. We’ll figure out a way around it, together. Sam and Cas have our backs, and if the three of us can stop the fucking apocalypse then the four of us can damn well avoid your dad’s stupid plans. I do want kids, and I want them with you, but I don’t want them just because somebody said so. And I don’t want them to inherit our mess. Not if I can help it,” he said, reaching over and taking her hand softly.  


Michaela looked down at their hands, her heart beating fast and furious in her chest. He’d just said everything she’d ever wanted to hear from him and she was having a hard time reconciling it in her head. They technically were in a dream, but he really was here with her so these were his words. Entwining her fingers with his, she smiled at him softly.  


There was so much to say she didn’t know where to begin. Leaning over, Mike kissed Dean softly. Apology accepted.


	13. Pillow Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean learns about Mike's mother, and she learns about Alastair.

Dean awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming through a window. And piercing screams.

Dean had asked Michaela to zap back to the bunker and bring him back with her, which she did, after convincing him to leave a note for Sam. She was eager to show him her home, and was delighted, and not a little relieved, to see that he only enhanced her space. There was no sense of claustrophobia or panic, and he seemed at ease in the small cabin as well.

The two of them talked late into the evening, first on the deck then in the cabin by the fire. They talked of everything and anything, except for the prophecy. There would be plenty of time for that when they were forced back to reality. For now it was the two of them, getting to know each other face to face, in reality rather than in their dreams.

But now Dean was sitting straight up in bed, next to a woman who up to thirty seconds ago had been a warm and welcoming body curled up next to him, and he’d been working up the guts to make a move. He was usually on the other side of this, the one with the nightmares. Ok, get it together Winchester, he thought, what was always the best way to calm yourself down?

Reaching over, he quickly wrapped Mike up in his arms, calling her name and crooning soft words into her ear until she stopped screaming. Eventually he began to sing “Hey Jude” to her softly, which managed to calm her into just a shivering mess instead, tears still streaming down her face. Not wanting to look at Dean, she pried herself out of his arms and stumbled to the bathroom to wash her face and blow her nose. Dean stayed in bed, knowing she was embarrassed and needed a moment to herself.

After a few minutes, she came back and sat on the edge of the bed, picking at the quilt, unsure of what to say, if anything. Dean watched her hand, realizing they had been sleeping beneath the quilt from his dreams, the blue and white one. He smiled quietly to himself, knowing this was definitely a step in the right direction, even if they were currently sitting awkwardly next to each other without saying anything, in a bed where sex _did not_ happen the night before.

Seriously, it didn’t. It’s not that Dean hadn’t wanted to have sex, because he did. (Because hello! He’s a guy, and it’s _Dean_.) But he was a womanizer and a flirt, not an asshole. He understood no meant no, not to mention what a big step this would be for them. (Who could forget that whole ‘mating for life’ bombshell?) Besides, rounding the bases a few times could be just as fun as a home run if it was done right. Reaching over, he took her hand and tugged, pulling Mike back into bed and once again wrapping his arms around her much calmer self.

Dropping a kiss to the top of her head and letting her cheek settle against his chest, Dean struggled to find the right words. Michaela had told him once before that with women, most of the time there wasn’t a wrong answer. (Unless she was asking how she looked, then she was always beautiful. She knows you’re lying probably 70% of the time but she doesn’t care. Deal with it.) ‘I don’t know’ is an ok answer sometimes, and it’s way better than lying.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Dean whispered into Mike’s hair. “I know I suck at talking about my feelings and stuff, but I’m a hell of a listener.”

He felt her smile against his chest and hug him closer for a moment.

“I don’t really want to talk about it, but I know that if we’re going to do this, us I mean, you need to know about my past and what I’ve been through. I’m just not sure where to begin,” she whispered back.

“Just start at the beginning,” he replied quietly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

After a moment to gather her thoughts, she began.

“My mother, _Constancia_ , has been diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic. On good days she keeps to herself and prays her days away. On bad days, she lashes out violently, sometimes injuring herself and sometimes taking it out on her caregivers,” Mike said quietly. “A few years ago, my grandfather and I managed to find her a place at a small cloister up in New England. The Mother Superior there, well let’s just say David helped her with a problem years ago so she was well aware of what we do and was willing to take her in. Plus a nice fat donation every year helps.”

“My mother wasn’t always like that; the catalyst seems to have been my father. Once I was old enough to start school, Michael began to visit me on a regular basis, sometimes for training and sometimes for personalized lessons, dropping in and disappearing with me for hours at a time. When these visits to me began, visits to her stopped and I don’t think she ever really forgave me for taking him from her.”

Dean tensed under Michaela. Who blames their kid for getting attention from their father? It wasn’t her fault Michael was a dick and decided he didn’t need her mom anymore.

“ _Constancia_ became more and more devout, convinced she had somehow made Michael angry by doing something, or not doing something,” Mike continued, rubbing circles onto Dean’s chest gently to calm him. She hadn’t even gotten to the bad part yet.

“What it did instead was to take her faith and warp it into something dark and unrecognizable. It was also around this time she had begun to recognize my gifts, so she used me as proof of Michael’s love for her,” she explained.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, knowing that what he was about to hear, he definitely would not like. “The fact that you were born, that Michael chose her as your mother, should have been proof enough that she had his favor, even if he wasn’t around much anymore.”

“Unfortunately she did not see it that way. Over time she resorted to corporal punishment and self-mutilation as penance for her imagined sins, then would force me to heal her as proof that she was still worthy. It was quite painful, and I was so young I didn’t understand that I could say no. When my grandfather found out, saw the scars, that’s when it stopped. He was furious and swore it would never happen again.”

Sitting up, Mike moved her long hair out of the way and pulled down the back of the tank top she’d worn to bed. Dean hadn’t really paid attention to her back the night before, not to mention there hadn’t been much light, just the glow of the fire and then a lamp. Now, as his hand tentatively reached out, tracing the multitude of scars across her back with his fingers, he saw the damage her mother had inflicted.

“I don’t understand. Why would healing her do this? I’ve seen Cas heal plenty of times. It didn’t look painful, and he doesn’t have scars from it, at least I’ve never seen any,” Dean said, feeling confused. Wanting to comfort her but not having any words, he pulled up onto one elbow and leaned over, kissing the nape of her neck gently, then tracing his lips down across her shoulder blade and over the scars.

Michaela shivered at his kisses, but tried to concentrate and nodded in agreement. “The current, so to speak, goes both ways because I’m an empath as well as a healer. When I purposely go to heal someone, I can focus my healing energy outward. However if I am weakened or caught off guard…”

“You would not only heal her, but take on her pain and injuries as well,” Dean finished for her, snaking an arm around her and burying his face in her neck. He cursed her mother in his head. What kind of mother does that to her kid? What a bitch!

“When I was small I was just learning my gifts and had not realized I could control the flow of the current. She would have to purposely catch me with my physical and mental blocks down to do it now,” Michaela finished quietly, leaning into him and entwining her fingers with the ones he used to hold her to him.

Dean hugged her tight, thinking of the scared little girl she must have been, taking on her mother’s pain. He understood torture all too well, and that’s exactly what she was describing, both physical and psychological. He kissed her temple, then used his hand to cup her cheek and make her look at him.

“I promise you Mike, right here and now,” Dean vowed, staring into her eyes, “If we have kids, they will never go through that. We’ve both been broken and put back together so we know what that does to a person. I swear you will never have to go through that again either, not on my watch. _Nobody_ touches my family like that and lives to talk about it.”

Michaela didn’t quite know what to say. She hadn’t expected such a vehemently righteous tirade on her behalf. It was surprising and she had to admit, appreciated. The inclusion of her as family was also a surprise, however she accepted it hungrily, greedily, finally realizing how much she craved being part of a family again. A person can only be strong for so long before they break, especially on their own, and she’d been strong and alone for a very long time. Even when David had been alive, most of the worries and responsibilities always rested squarely on her shoulders and weighed her down. Dean was the same she knew, always trying to be the strong one, the protector, the big brother.

“Michaela?” Dean asked, knowing he needed to come clean. “I know I told you about hell. That I was tortured, right?”

She looked at him, feeling him withdraw from her physically and mention. Mike crossed her legs and pulled the quilt around her. This sounded important and Dean didn’t just divulge personal information haphazardly, especially about this subject. Quite frankly, it usually took a bottle of Jack and a crowbar.

“There’s… more to it than I told you. And you’re not gonna like it. Hell I don’t like it. I hate it, but it happened and I can’t change it, no matter how much I wish I could,” he whispered sadly. “Just, please don’t hate me, ok? I’ll understand if you have to walk away once I tell you, but I don’t think I could take knowing you hate me.”

“Dean, you’re scaring me,” Mike said, rubbing his arm soothingly with her hand. “Just tell me. Whatever it is, we can work through it. We’ve been friends for too long, no matter what you’ve done, I know you must have had a good reason.”

Dean leaned back into the pillow and closed his eyes, rubbing the beginnings of a headache from his forehead. A single tear slipped from beneath his lashes as he began to explain his time in Hell in more detail, namely Alastair and what he had turned him into. How he’d become the demon’s protégé, his star pupil, whose carving of human flesh was perfected into an art. He told her of the pain, the screams and cries, both his and those of his victims.

Dean explained how his father, ever the strong Marine, had lasted a hundred years under Alistair’s hand, but he’d only lasted thirty before breaking and bending to his will. He’d started the apocalypse, the fault rested squarely on his shoulders, and he’d become a monster in the process.

As Dean finished speaking, he opened his eyes and looked over at Michaela, anxious and terrified of seeing her reaction. He saw that she’d turned away from him and was staring out the window, faint sniffles and hiccups telling him she was crying. He knew it, he told himself, he’d ruined everything and now she hated him.

“I’m so sorry Mike. I’m so damn sorry,” Dean whispered brokenly, before rolling out of bed, grabbing his clothes and walking out the door.

He’d ruined it by telling her everything, he knew he would, but he couldn’t keep that secret from her. It was too big. But now that she knew he was a monster, that he was a broken façade of the boy she’d grown up with and the man she loved, now she would walk away. She was too damn good for him. He’d managed to lose the woman he loved only 12 hours after making up with her and confessing his feelings.

Way to go Winchester. New record.


	14. No Rest for the Weary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike goes looking for Dean and ends up fighting demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitions:  
> Luna - Moon  
> Tesoro - Treasure  
> Mi Hermosa - My beauty

Michaela was making lunch. It had been hours since Dean had thrown on his clothes and walked out, going who knew where, and he wasn’t back yet. She knew telling her about Alastair had been incredibly difficult and when he’d finished he’d been looking for reassurance from her. She’d been crying as she listened to him, imagining what he went through and knowing that it had been far worse than anything she could envision.

But he’d left before she’d been able to explain how she felt, the empath in her screaming in agony at the pain she felt radiating from him. Mike’s heart had been breaking, but now he was gone. Dean had left before she’d been able to beat back the onslaught of emotions she’d felt rolling off of him and clear her head. Her luck he was out there lost.

For those that weren’t familiar, one rocky hilltop looked like any other. Sighing, she threw lunch into the oven to keep warm, and grabbed her hoodie. Calling Royal and Captain she headed out the front door to find him before he froze to death. A storm was rolling in and it had already begun to drizzle. Pausing for a moment, Mike knelt and rubbed at the dogs’ ears, whispering sweet words before asking them to find Dean.

The two canines observed her with their soft, intelligent brown eyes before giving an almost imperceptible nod and trotting off into the brush. She followed them at a respectful distance, knowing they would not lead her into harm intentionally, but also realizing that their confidence in her hiking skills was somewhat misplaced.

Michaela trudged through the underbrush, grumbling about having to search for Dean in this weather. She wished she could use her other senses to find him herself, but they were dampened here, mostly because of the various symbols and sigils all over the property. They protected well, but could also be a hindrance in times like this. Hopefully the dogs would have an easier time tracking him the old fashioned way, with their noses.

* * *

Mike’s phone buzzed. Pulling it out of her pocket, she saw that it was a text from Little David at the store. _Trouble. Black eyes looking for you_ , was all it said. It was more than enough. She began to run in the direction of the store, mentally calling _Tesoro_ for his assistance and telling Royal and Captain to find Dean and protect him. Hearing hoof beats, she slowed and quickly replied to the text, _On my way. Don’t try to be a hero._

Barely allowing Tesoro to slow down, Michaela launched herself onto his back, using her wings to guide and lift her, then urged him into a gallop. At a full run they could get to the store in less than ten minutes, but she knew when there were demons involved, every minute counted, every second. As she neared the store, her phone rang, _Dean_ it said.

“Dean, I know you’re pissed at me, and I do want to talk, but now is not the time,” Michaela muttered into the phone.

“I know,” Dean said, “The dogs found me. You’re in trouble, I can feel it. What’s going on?”

Mike quickly filled him in on the text and who Little David was and where she was going. Upon hearing that there could be multiple demons waiting for her, Dean insisted on backing her up, but he was who knew where in the hills. The dogs could lead him to her but she didn’t know how long that would take. Finally, she smirked and asked, “Can you ride a horse?”

* * *

Approximately five minutes later Michaela reached the back of the store and hid in the thick brush to scope things out. Ten minutes after that, she heard more hoof beats in the distance, steadily growing louder. After a few moments, an Appaloosa mare, pale grey and speckled, cut through the brush with Dean astride her back and clutching her mane, the dogs trailing behind. Mike helped him off the horse, then began petting and stroking the mare’s head, thanking her for her assistance.

“ _Gracias, Luna. Mi hermosa_ ,” she whispered.

“Thank you, Moon. My beauty,” Dean translated in his head. Moon? Luna must be the mare’s name he thought.

After a few more whispers, the mare trotted off back into the brush where Tesoro waited, munching on whatever grasses he could find. Turning to face Dean, Michaela explained that she had already scouted the area. There were three demons outside and they seemed to be waiting, probably for her. She doubted any were inside the store since it had been warded by her grandfather years ago, and she had checked on them just a few months ago.

They decided they would go for the direct approach, Michaela riding up to the front door and distracting the three demons while Dean went to the hidden back door and helped the people inside escape. He didn’t necessarily like this plan, he was used to being the one calling the shots and going in guns blazing. But when she told him about Little David and his grandparents being in there, plus however many other old men had stopped by to play dominoes in the back room, he knew it was the best one they had. Dean wasn’t going to let some senior citizens and a teenager stay in danger because his judgement was clouded.

Mike called to Tesoro and launched herself up and onto his back gracefully.

“Hey Mike?” Dean asked, disgruntled, his male pride and machismo deciding now was a perfect time to rear its head, “how come you get the big badass horse and I got a girl?”

Michaela sighed, she did not have the time to stroke his male pride. “You barely hung onto Luna,” she smirked, “Do you really think you’re ready to handle Tesoro?”

The stallion snorted and pawed the ground, showing off for Mike. Dean immediately jumped back, suddenly remembering his equestrian-related limitations.

“Umm, yeah. Good point. I’m just gonna, you know, go rescue some old people now,” he said sheepishly. “Oh and Mike? Be careful.”

Michaela nodded at him, understanding what he left unsaid. _I love you. I’m sorry for running. Please forgive me for what I’ve done. I want you in my life, I’ll do anything. I love you_. She smiled at him and nodded quietly, mentally projecting _I love you too_ before turning her horse and heading out. She missed the slack jawed look on Dean’s face, who had felt her whispered declaration slam into his brain. She also missed the slow grin that grew on his face and refused to leave as he jogged off in the opposite direction.

* * *

Michaela loved fighting, the adrenaline rush, the satisfaction of watching another monster bite the dust, the knowledge that good had prevailed. The blood she could have lived without, but still. She was always surprised at her body’s ability to remember all the minute muscle movements needed to wield a sword or aim a gun with accuracy. At times like these, she felt free, as if she was doing what she was created to do. And in essence she was. She’d been born and bred to be a warrior, trained in the art from childhood, and at this point, it was second nature.

Mike rode up to the front of the store brazenly, every inch the nephilim warrior, an Amazon of old, going into battle. The demons circled her, their arrogance clouding their judgement.

“Aww shucks guys, three big bad demons for little ole me? I’m flattered. Really,” she smirked. Kicking out a boot, she kicked the demon to her left in the face while using her father’s angel blade to end the demon to her right and dismount from Tesoro. The horse took off into the brush, leaving her with an injured and cursing demon and another standing before her, fear just beginning to dawn on his face.

In moments both had been dispatched back to hell, the last one with a blade through the heart. This is exactly how Dean found Mike, thrusting her blade into the demon’s chest and watching its essence leave its vessel. She looked over at Dean, seeing the look in his eyes, knowing that he’d seen her fight the demons, not that it had been much of a fight, but still.

Mike waited for the fear to cloud his features, that angry sneer that told her his male pride had been wounded just by watching her fight and realizing her full capabilities. But the look never came. Instead, his face bloomed into a look that resembled awe, and maybe pride, and ok maybe a little part arousal. (She wasn’t blind.) Hmph, good to know.

Dean had watched Michaela kill those demons so easily, she almost seemed bored. Actually, he was pretty sure she was just playing with the last one, like a cat with her dinner, the poor victim completely unaware that it was doomed from the start. And that was so hot. Not that he had a kink for that sort of thing. Crap he was turning into a kinky son of a bitch. What could he say? Power was sexy.

“Is everyone safe?” Mike asked, cleaning off her blade and re-holstering it.

Dean shook himself out of his thoughts and nodded, “Yeah David and his grandparents took them back to their house. They said they’d take the long way through the canyon.”

Michaela nodded, knowing the canyon cut through her warded property and they would be safe there. With a thought she dumped the three bodies into the bottom of an old mine in the West Texas desert. With cleanup done, she took a moment to look around and take in her surroundings. That was easy, too easy. Who sent three minor demons to take out a Nephilim?

“Is it just me, or was that way too easy?” Dean asked under his breath, gaze scanning the hillside for movement as well.

“No, I was thinking the same thing,” Mike muttered. “This feels like it was a distraction.” Then she felt it, the presence of evil, unmistakable in its aura, bigger and stronger than the first three demons combined. But it wasn’t coming from outside, it was wrapping around her, projecting into her brain from someone who was sending her a message.

Michaela grunted in pain and doubled over, desperately trying to push the presence out of her head. Dean rushed over, wrapping his arms around her, asking what was wrong, but she was unable to answer. Fighting the feelings pressing into her mind was taking all of her concentration. Finally, a reprieve, as the pressure lessened and the feelings ebbed away.

The nephilim fell to her knees, Dean still holding onto her and preventing her from falling completely into the dirt. Her breath coming rapid and heavily, as she tried to gather her thoughts as they took a moment.

“Are you ok?” Dean whispered in her ear, pushing her hair out of her face. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Mike replied, explaining what she had felt. “I think that thing, whatever it is, is hurting someone I know, someone I care about enough to have a connection of some kind with. I just don’t know how to figure out who it is.”

As Dean helped Mike stand and dust the dirt off, her phone rang suddenly. The two hunters looked at each other in surprise. Neither of them got many phone calls and when they did it wasn’t usually good news. The fact that this call was coming immediately after the intense mental episode they just experienced didn’t bode well and put them on edge. Reaching for the phone, Mike pressed answer, and moved it to her ear slowly.

“Hello? Oh, Mother Superior, how are… Oh. How bad is it? I see… Yes, I understand. I’m on my way.”


	15. Mommy Dearest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for Dean to meet Mike's mom, and not necessarily under the best circumstances.

We need to get back to the house. There are things there I need,” Michaela said, grabbing Dean by the hand and transporting them back to her back porch. (Apparently that is the only non-warded spot on her property she can get in and out of.) Running down to the basement hideaway, she typed in her code on a keypad and burst through the reinforced door. Dean trailed behind her quickly, unsure of how to help prepare for a hunt for the first time in a very long time.

“Umm, Mike? Babe? What the hell’s going on?” Dean asked, looking around her secret room and taking it all in. “What is this place? It’s like your own private bunker.”

Michaela walked purposefully around the room, gathering supplies into a leather satchel. Hex bags joined the jars in her bag as she finally tuned in enough to hear Dean calling her name and asking questions.

“The call I got was from the Sister that runs the cloisters where my mother lives. Apparently Constancia has begun acting erratically and hurt some of the sisters. She believes she might have supernatural assistance this time.” Mike muttered as she went through her mental checklist. “Can you call Sam for me? We could use the backup. Tell him to we’ll meet him at the bunker.”

“Whoa whoa, backup here a minute. Let me get this straight. Your mom has gone psycho on some nuns, possibly with the help of something demonic or some other evil sons of bitches and we need to stop her. And it’s going to take a Nephilim, who is her daughter by the way, and two hunters to stop her and her buddies. Am I following you so far?” Dean asked incredulously.

Mike cocked her head to the side and looked at him, debating on whether or not she should call him on his smartass response. Eh, not enough time.

“Yes,” she said succinctly, giving him the patented Angel stare most often seen from Cas. “Are you going to call Sam for backup or not?”

“Uhhh, yeah sure,” Dean replied, suddenly realizing his sense of humor was not being appreciated at the moment. There was also that sinking feeling that unlike his usual hunts, he was not in charge.

* * *

As Michaela and Dean arrived back at the bunker, her body language changed from relaxed to tense, then cold. She was moving into fighting mode. Walking to her truck with Captain and Royal hot on her heals, Mike lifted Tory’s hard top and dropped the tailgate. Pulling open boxes and drawers, she grabbed her gun holster and pulled it on over her shoulders, then repeated the motions with her black leather jacket. Digging into her toolbox, she pulled out a machete and scabbard and began strapping it around her hips and thigh.

“What’s going on with _Constancia_? What happened?” Sam asked, running into the garage to join Michaela and his brother, protective instincts on high alert. Sam glanced at Dean, then looked on in stunned silence at the change in Mike’s usual demeanor. The cold fury rolled off her in waves and it took a moment for Dean to gather his thoughts enough to form coherent sentences and explain the situation in more detail to his brother.

The Nephilim moved to the center of the room, holding Captain and Royal by their collars and whispering soothing words into their ears as the brothers joined them. Mike instructed them to grab the dogs’ collars and hold on as she pressed her fingers to each of the boys’ foreheads and threw her head back to fly them instantly through the night.

* * *

In a moment the trio found themselves in the corner of a darkened courtyard in a sort of cloister or mission made of gray, weathered stone. Michaela immediately began striding over to a large door and knocked on the dark, heavy wood. After a moment, it creaked open and a sliver of golden light shone through. Mike gestured for the brothers to follow her and they slipped into a long hallway where an elderly nun stood in the dim light.

Mike embraced the nun quickly and introduced her to the brothers as Sister Susana, the Mother Superior. At barely five foot even, the men towered over her. She held herself with the regal-ness of a queen and the steeliness of a General, yet there was only kindness in her eyes. Cutting to the chase, Mike began to ask the sister questions about her mother.

“Your mother began to show signs of melancholy and erratic behavior two days ago, but it wasn’t until this evening that she crossed a line,” the Sister explained. “She seems to be hallucinating and she injured two other sisters when they tried to calm her.”

Mike cringed and nodded, asking to see the injured sisters. The nun nodded and led them down the hall to a door marked “Infirmary.” She knocked quietly, then gestured for the healer to enter. Sister Susana placed a hand on Dean’s arm before he could follow, silently requesting the men stay with her in the hall while Michaela entered.

The room was set up like a small clinic, with shelves of medical supplies and medications on one side and two twin size beds on the other. Lying on each bed was a woman, middle aged and swaddled in blankets. Michaela went to each woman in turn, kneeling by her side, murmuring words of comfort and apology before laying her hand on their foreheads. There were no fireworks or glowing lights or choirs of angels proclaiming a miracle as she healed them, but when she was done it was obvious the two sisters were calmer and resting comfortably.

“They are resting now Sister, they will be fine once they wake up,” Mike said, walking back out into the hallway. “Where is my mother being held?”

“We managed to get her behind locked doors, in the wing where her rooms are, however we could not get her to calm herself. Based on the noises we can hear, I’m afraid she’s taking out her anger on the furniture,” the Mother Superior said.

Michaela nodded in understanding, hugging the nun once again before motioning to the brothers to follow her back out into the courtyard. As they walked through the dim glow of security lights high overhead, they made a beeline across the courtyard for another door in the farthest wing. She knew she had to get Sam caught up and quickly explain her past with Constancia.

“When I was a little girl, my mother would come into my room at night and take my hand…” Mike began quietly. It didn’t take long for Sam to put the pieces together.

“Oh my god, Mike that’s where you got the scars isn’t it? And how you developed PTSD? From your mother forcing you to heal her and take on her pain,” Sam realized, after hearing her story. Her mother had tortured her; and she’d been just a baby.

Dean glared at Sam from beneath hooded eyes. How did Sam know about her scars? Just how close had the two of them gotten while he’d been gone? Shit. Need to concentrate now, freak out in jealous rage later.

Michaela nodded somberly at Sam. She didn’t necessarily like anyone knowing about her past, but if these men were going to hunt with her and have her back, then they both needed to know what her capabilities and limitations were.

“There’s something else,” Michaela said, pulling a ring off her finger and looking to Dean. “A few years ago my mother acquired the services of a dark witch and obtained a spell to multiply her ability to emote. Because I am an empath, the waves of emotions that come from her are debilitating to me, especially since most of them concerning me are negative. I need you to wear this ring. Because of our connection, some of what she blasts at me may bleed over to you and this will protect you.”

Dean looked down at the small dark gray ring in her hand and picked it up. It was lighter that he expected and warm to the touch from her body heat. “What is it?” he asked.

“It’s made of hematite, repels negativity,” Mike explained. “It’s not a lot but it’s something and I don’t want you going in completely unshielded.”

“And what about you? You’ll need something more if you’re the one that gets the main blast,” Dean asked, slipping the ring onto his finger. Michaela lifted her arm and pushed the sleeve of her jacket up. Entwined around her wrist was a rosary made of filigreed Spanish silver, the beads made of the same dark hematite as the ring he now wore.

“I brought out the big guns,” Mike grinned, “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

* * *

From behind the door, the hunters heard a thump and crashing sounds. Apparently Constancia was still at it. Mike tried to explain what they might find. Her mother was a small woman, but strong and most likely hallucinating. The woman had also grown up as the daughter of a hunter and Man of Letters, so she was well aware of what was out there. She was also not above calling for supernatural help in the middle of one of her episodes, and not always from a reliable source. More than once Mike had had to exorcise a demon or kill some other creature that Constancia had called to for aid.

Michaela called Captain to her side, having left Royal guarding Mother Superior and the sleeping sisters, then turned to open the large door behind her. The hunters entered warily, weapons at the ready, unsure of what exactly they would find inside. It looked like a tornado had gone through, with furniture flung far and wide, broken into splintered pieces.

The faint sounds of cackling and mumbling came from a room further down the corridor and they slowly began to head in that direction. As they neared the door to the room, the brothers paused and glanced at Mike, unsure of how to handle this. They needn’t have worried. Constancia solved that problem for them.

“Oh, is that my sweet little girl out there? Come to fix her broken mother? Come out Michaela, I know you’re there. I can smell you,” the voice growled.

Dean grimaced, this woman sounded like the chick from Misery. And he was _trying_ to make her is mother-in-law? Dude, she was so getting a hotel room if she came to visit.

Michaela cringed at the sound of her mother’s voice, her breath catching in her throat, a band beginning to tighten around her chest. No, she told herself, she would not allow her mother to wield power over her. Pushing back the impending symptoms of a panic attack, she lifted her chin and pulled her shoulders back, readying herself for anything. Michael’s angel blade was already in her hand, but now she lowered it to her side and stepped into the rectangle of light spilling from Constancia’s room.

“Hello Mother,” she said quietly.

* * *

 

The woman in the room had aged quickly in the past few years, grey streaking her long brown hair. It flowed in wild, untamed curls around her shoulders, adding to the appearance that she had lost her sanity. She wore a dark robe, similar to a monk’s habit, made of a rough material that looked more like burlap than anything someone would normally wear, at least in this century.

Mike stood just inside the door, feet planted, shoulders back, ready for the onslaught. Constancia stood clumsily, as if she’d been sitting for a long time and her legs had gone numb. Or maybe it was just her advanced age, it had been a long time since they’d been in the same room.

“So,” Michaela said, taking in the sparse room and broken lamp, “What was this tantrum for? You miss me that much? Or did you just not like what you had for dinner?”

“Insolent child,” Constancia sneered. “You’re just like your father. Use me for your own purposes then throw me aside like trash when you no longer need me. At least I still know how to get you to show your face. Michael continues to keep his distance.”

“Michael’s in the pit, locked in a cage with Lucifer. They’ve been having some brotherly bonding time for a few years now,” Dean said from over Mike’s shoulder. “He can’t answer anybody.”

“Lies!” the woman screamed, “There is no way his Father would allow His eldest son to be locked away with the fallen one.”

“God is AWOL, has been for a while now. And Michael is definitely in the cage. I should know, I’m the one that rode Lucifer down with him,” Sam stated over Mike’s other shoulder.

Constancia narrowed her eyes and stared at him in anger. Dean thought of the old adage “if looks could kill” and didn’t doubt for one moment that this woman could pull it off given enough time. Her hands balled into fists then opened as she pushed them forward, forcing enough energy out of her palms to throw the brothers backwards into the hall and thud against the wall. Mike’s head jerked, but she was strong enough to push back and force her mother backwards, using her own force against her. Thank you hematite, she thought.

The three hunters went into attack mode and moved back into the room. Mike pulled zip ties from her satchel and motioned to the men.

“Help me subdue her. We’ll restrain her until we can get her under a doctor’s care,” Michaela said quietly, “Or counteract whatever spell she’s put on herself.”

Michaela faced her mother head on to keep her attention but stayed further back to block the door, allowing the brothers to come at Constancia from each side. Both of the men grabbed her arms easily but were surprised at the small woman’s strength when she began to fight back savagely.

“Let go of me!” Constancia screamed at the two brothers as she struggled to loosen their grip, then turned her attention to her daughter. “You bitch! You would let your own mother be treated with such disrespect? I am Michael’s mate! An archangel’s chosen one and the mother of the first nephilim in millennia. Do NOT underestimate me or those willing to follow in my path!”

Followers? What the hell was she talking about, Michaela thought, just before hearing a noise coming from her left. Stepping backwards into the hallway, she realized just what her mother had meant.

“Umm, guys, we’ve got a problem,” Mike muttered, turning to face the oncoming threat as the boys finished tying her mother to a chair.

“What kind of problem are we talking about here? Like ‘oops’ problem or ‘son of a bitch’?” Dean asked, tightening the last zip tie.

“More like the “I’m going to need to ask forgiveness from Jesus himself for what I’m about to do’ kind of problem,” Mike said, raising her angel blade in preparation.

Dean and Sam looked at each other, eyes widening, then darted out to join the nephilim in the hallway. What they saw surprised even these two veteran hunters. What greeted them were nuns, right down to the penguin suits, at least ten and each and every one sporting big black demon eyes to match.

“I won’t hurt them,” Michaela said, putting away her blade, “They are innocents. I’m going to try to expel the demons one at a time. Can you help me restrain them without injuring anyone?”

“We can try,” Sam muttered, knowing it wouldn’t be easy not hurting demonized nuns half his size and twice his age.

The group of sisters advanced menacingly, angered over the treatment of Constancia. It didn’t appear they had weapons other than sticks and things they could wield that were found lying around. This was gonna hurt.

One at a time, Michaela thought, one at a time. Springing forward, she pressed her palm up against the first nun’s forehead and pushed her power into her, successfully displacing the demon as it flew up and out of her open mouth and the woman slumped to the floor. In the space of a breath, her other hand smacked down onto another sister and forced her to her knees before the demon released.

Dean and Sam were doing their part too, grabbing a kicking screaming woman under each arm like toddlers having a tantrum. Of course that meant there were half a dozen more trying to beat them to death with pieces of broken furniture. They may not have been using knives, but dammit it still hurt! Maybe they were on the Diocese softball team or something.

Michaela went for the sisters that the brothers hadn’t grabbed. The faster she got to the armed sisters, the sooner they’d stop beating the crap out of the guys. Unfortunately some collateral damage would be necessary, Mike thought as she sucker punched one of the larger sisters.

One after the other each of the nuns was touched and the demons forced out of their bodies. The nephilim was an incredibly powerful being but even she could feel her grace weakening by the time she got the demons the brothers were holding. Once all of the demons had been exorcized, she began going through and healing each of them, forcing the last of reserves of her grace forward and out.

“Are you sure you should be doing that?” Dean asked, looking worriedly at her pale and tired face. “Maybe you should let a doctor take care of them. None of them look like they are mortally wounded.”

“These sisters were innocents that didn’t deserve to have to go through this, and they wouldn’t have had to if my mother wasn’t here in their care,” Mike said quietly. “And no regular doctor will understand what they’ve been through.”

“At least let me call Cas to help you,” Dean insisted stubbornly.

Mike smiled softly. “You may call him to transport us home if you wish. I will not be strong enough to do that so soon,” she said. “Sam, would you go find the Mother Superior? Let her know the sisters are safe and well, but they will need to be moved and cared for.”

Sam nodded and strode out the door to find Sister Susanna across the courtyard. Dean went over to Mike, where she had slumped to the floor after healing the last sister.

“You ok?” Dean asked, squatting in front of Mike and gently running his knuckles across her cheek. She nodded and smiled weakly at the hunter, her love. She could see the worry in his eyes for her.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, running her fingers through Dean’s mussed hair. “Just some bumps and scrapes. I’ve had worse playing flag football.”

Dean grinned as the mates shared a quiet moment together, pressing his forehead to Mike’s. The sound of scraping and wood breaking took them out of their moment and back to the current situation. Eyes widening, they both realized at the same moment that the sound could have only come from Constancia.

Dean jumped up and ran back into the room where Constancia was tied up, Michaela following behind. What greeted them was not good, a broken chair and their former prisoner pulling off the last of the zip ties. With a vicious look, she attacked the hunter first.

Crap, maybe she was a demon too, the hunter thought. How else could a 65 year old woman have the strength to break out and then toss Dean across the room and halfway under the bed with a wave of her hand? He doubted the magical powers she had called upon would give her that much strength.

Dean shook his head to clear his vision, realizing that his upper half was wedged under the small bed that had miraculously stayed intact in the destruction. His hand touched something wet and sticky and he immediately pulled his hand back and groaned in disgust. Bringing it to his nose to sniff out of pure instinct, and knowing he would regret it, the hunter smelled the unmistakable scent of blood.

Realizing there was no reason for blood to be there, he quickly reached back and grabbed the item and took a good look at it in the dim light under the bed. It was long and seemed to be made of strips of leather. With a start, Dean realized what he was holding, a cat o’ nine tails, a whip with multiple leather straps used in torture.

Suddenly the pieces fell into place. Michaela had talked about her mother hurting herself with a whip when she was small, self-flagellation she called it. If the whip was covered in blood, it could only mean that Constancia had hurt herself and was hiding it.

Dean suddenly tuned into the voices above his head, hearing Michaela ordering her mother to stay away from him. He felt a hand on his ankle and felt the last of her healing power flow into him and fix his concussion along with the cuts and bruises he’d sustained from the fight with the demons. Mike was virtually powerless and dealing with her mother alone.

The hunter struggled to pull himself out from under the bed he was wedged beneath, yelling Mike’s name and screaming “don’t touch her” over and over. By the time he managed to get free and take in the scene, it was too late. Mike had thought he was yelling at Constancia not to touch her and hurt her.

Dean watched in horror as the old woman lunged at him to attack, and Mike reached out to stop her. Constancia stopped mid-stride and turned towards her daughter, reaching out and clutching both of her arms in a death grip.

Comprehension crossed Michaela’s face as she realized what was happening to her, her body becoming weak and limp in her mother’s embrace. The last thing she heard as she slid to the floor was Dean screaming her name.

* * *

Sam returned to the sound of his brother screaming Michaela’s name and the evil sounding cackle of her mother. Running into the room, the sight that greeted him made his heart stop. Dean, kneeling on the floor, tears running down his face as he held a limp Mike, his hands covered in blood.

The old woman stood above the older brother, irate at the attention focused on her daughter instead of her as it should be. Constancia was the one with the power, the honor, the chosen one. Reaching under the mattress, she pulled out a knife and stood, pushing her hair out of her face clumsily and revealing the smirk on her mouth. Standing above the hunter on the floor, still clutching his precious bitch, she raised the knife, intent on killing that which her daughter held dearest just as Michael had been taken from her.


	16. Sacrifice, Grief, and Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter has certain lines in italics. These denote the fact that they are prayers being said silently by the characters.

Sometimes, though very rarely, Dean truly appreciated having an overbearing worrywart of a younger brother. Now was definitely one of those times.

The Sasquatch had come back from speaking with the Mother Superior to check on his brother and Mike, only to find them covered in blood on the ground and Captain doing his best to protect his Nephilim by clamping his jaws down on her mother’s arm and not budging.

As Sam quickly took in the scene, he realized Constancia’s intention to kill Dean and Captain’s waning energy from having been injured during the fight with the demonic nuns. Stepping around his brother and Mike, he used the substantial height difference to try to intimidate the older woman to back down. Captain let go as Sam grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back, trying to subdue her without hurting her too much.

Looking down, Sam saw the tears slowly rolling down his older brother’s cheeks as he clutched at Michaela, burying his nose into her hair and slowly rocking her in his arms. Dean’s hands were covered in blood, and more was dripping from Michaela’s body onto the floor.

Mike had been hurt badly and was no longer responsive, but Sam wasn’t sure why since she’d been in one piece when he left. He knew she had to be weak from all she’d been through and how much of her grace she’d used to exorcise the demons and heal the sisters, but how she had gotten to this point was still a mystery.

“Dean,” Sam said quietly, trying to get his brother’s attention, “Dean, what the hell happened?”

“She healed me. She was trying to protect me instead of trying to protect herself,” Dean whispered brokenly, looking up at his brother. “Her mother did it again, just like when she was a little girl. She hurt herself and tricked Mike into healing her. I couldn’t stop her. I realized it too late.”

“Is… is she still alive?” Sam asked tentatively.

Dean nodded, sniffling and trying to wipe his eyes on the arm of his jacket. “Barely. She’s still breathing but it’s weak and shallow. She needs help,” he muttered, “More than we can give her. She needs Cas, right now.”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, to pray like he’d never prayed before. “Cas I need you,” he thought, “Michaela needs you. She’s your queen right? It’s time to go to battle for her. She’s hurt real bad, and I don’t know if she’s going to make it. Please Cas, she needs your help. I need your help.”

A rustling of feathers and the deep ‘Hello, Dean’ that followed were perhaps the best sounds Dean had ever heard.

* * *

Castiel quickly took in the situation and walked over to kneel beside Michaela’s bloody body that Dean continued to refuse to let go of. Placing his hand on her forehead, she slowly began to heal, one bloody stripe after another. When his hand lifted, she was regaining consciousness, her breathing strong and steady.

“Dean?” Michaela muttered, tears coming to her eyes, “What the hell happened? Oh no, she did it again didn’t she?”

Once Cas was satisfied with Michaela’s recovery, he stepped around the couple and knelt on the floor, extending his hand to allow Captain to sniff him for a moment. Once the canine was satisfied that he was not a threat, he rubbed his head along the Angel’s hands then moved closer to apply doggy kisses to his vessel’s scruffy cheek. Castiel smiled gently before running his hands along Captain’s fur, healing him of his injuries.

“You were injured, my queen, umm, Michaela,” Castiel said, looking back at her over his shoulder, “You should recover completely, however you are very weak. You will need protection until then. I will procure supplies and prepare a secure nest for you at the bunker to rest and recuperate.”

Castiel disappeared in a ruffle of feathers, leaving the hunters to deal with a weakened Michaela and a very pissed off Constancia.

Dean pulled Michaela tight to his chest, breathing in the remnants of the shampoo scent in her hair. In his head, a prayer formed itself and repeated over and over as he directed it towards his angel, _thank you thank you thank you thank you._

* * *

Sometimes Sam was just too trusting. Damn sasquatch. Constancia had slowly gone slack while Castiel had been there and Sam gentled his hold on her, thinking she had finally given up and tired out. He was wrong.

The knife Sam had taken from Mike’s mother was still within her reach. He had merely thrown it onto the bed when he’d restrained her. When he loosened his grip and became distracted by the angel’s departure, she took her chance.

Breaking free from Sam’s grasp, Constancia lunged forward and grabbed the knife. As she closed her hand around the handle and spun back to the taller hunter, she knew he was reacting as well. With the cocking of the hunter’s gun, the old woman threw the blade, embedding it deep into Sam’s chest.

* * *

Dean has made saving Sam’s ass a career. He’s not sure if this is exactly what his dad had in mind when he told him to watch out for Sammy, but it is what it is. This time though, he’s saving all of their asses because quite frankly there’s no telling what this psychotic bitch was capable of.

As soon as Dean had realized Constancia’s intentions toward his brother, he’d jumped up and lunged for her, but he was too late. The knife had already left her hands and was hurtling towards Sam’s chest by the time elder hunter had tackled her to the ground.

Dean didn’t have time to look back and see if the woman’s aim had been good and found its mark. At the moment he was rolling around on the ground trying to get his future mother-in-law-from-hell to stop fighting him. She was damn strong for such a little thing, but supernatural powers did that to people. He would know.

Constancia got an arm free and managed to hit Dean’s nose hard enough to force him to fall back with stars in his eyes. The only thing missing was the little birds circling his head. The woman made a break for it, running down the hall and towards the large wooden doors they had entered from.

Getting up as quickly as he could and trying desperately to ignore his dizziness, Dean began to stumble after Constancia. As he ran, he yelled at her to stop and pulled his gun. The hunter was done underestimating this woman. She’d already hurt his soul mate (her daughter!) and now his brother, even if he didn’t want to think about how badly Sammy could be hurt right now.

“Constancia! Stop! I don’t want to hurt you,” Dean yelled at the woman’s fleeing back. He pointed his pearl handled gun at her and prayed his future wife’s wedding gift wouldn’t have to be her mother’s sudden death. She’d lost enough family in the last few months.

Of course things were never that easy. Dean was a Winchester after all, and he was pretty sure his last name was “totally screwed” in Latin.

Constancia turned to Dean and laughed at him. “You cannot hurt me! I am Michael’s chosen one, the Heavenly Prince’s consort. Hurt me and I will heal, kill me and Archangel’s will arrive from on high to avenge my death and resurrect me,” she screamed, “Michael himself will avenge me and bring you low!”

Three taps to the chest was all it took. She fell to the ground, eyes peering up to heaven but seeing nothing.

“I don’t think so bitch,” Dean muttered, walking over and nudging the old woman in the side with his boot to make sure she was dead. “You’re heading straight to Hell; do not pass go, do not collect $200. Oh, and while you’re down there? Do me a favor and say hi to Michael for me, straight from the vessel that threw his ass down there in the first place.”

* * *

Michaela had looked on in horror when the knife left her mother’s hand and floated, almost in slow motion, towards Sam and embedded itself in his chest. She felt Dean let go of her and lunge for Constancia, leaving her to check on his younger brother.

Still weak, Mike half scooted and half crawled along the floor to Sam. She could see the blood on his lips and hear the shallow, wet breaths he tried to take. The knife had punctured a lung and he needed help quickly.

_Castiel. Please, Sam is injured badly. Come quickly._

“Hold on Sam, I’m here,” Mike whispered soothingly, “I’ve got you.”

_Castiel, it’s Michaela. Please hurry, Sam has been stabbed. It’s bad. He needs your help._

The nephilim tried to lighten the mood by chattering about Castiel and how Sam would be just fine and it was just a scratch as she checked his wound, but she knew he wasn’t buying it.

_Please, Cas hear my prayer. You are needed desperately._

There was still no reply from the angel and Sam was fading fast, so Michaela did the only thing she could do. Reaching over him, she placed a hand on his forehead and closed her eyes to gather the last of her Grace.

“Mike, no,” Sam mumbled, realizing what she was trying to do. Weakly, he tried to swat her hand from his forehead. “You’re too weak to heal me. Call Cas.”

“I have been. He has not answered my prayers and you are out of time. We cannot wait for him,” Michaela explained quietly, “Now hold still for me.”

“No!” Sam muttered again, blood dripping from his mouth and down his cheek as she reached for the knife and slid it out of his chest as gently as she could. Mike heard the gasp and subsequent wet coughs from the hunter as she tossed the knife aside.

“Michaela, you can’t heal me,” the man said, using the last of his energy to grab her wrist. “You may not recover. You’re Dean’s soul mate. I can’t take that from him.”

Mike smiled down at Sam sadly, prying her hand from his grasp and laying his arm gently across his chest.

“If I don’t heal you Sam, Dean would never forgive me, and I would lose him anyway,” she whispered, smiling sadly. “I need you to promise me something Sammy. If I don’t make it, tell Dean not to do anything foolish. I’ll be waiting for him when he’s ready.”

“No Michaela,” Sam muttered, trying to sit up, “No, you can’t do this.”

“Shhh, Sam It’s ok,” Mike whispered softly, brushing the hair from his face. “I’ve already made arrangements. My body will automatically be transported to a place where no one but you or your brother will know to look. I’ll be safe there until you and Dean can come to burn my body. Your father was a paranoid bastard.”

Reaching up, the nephilim’s hand once again pressed to the hunter’s forehead and he felt the healing warmth of her Grace enter his body. In seconds, he felt the pain in his chest ebb away and his lungs clear, just as a weight fell across his chest.

Opening his eyes, Sam realized Michaela had passed out literally on top of him with her head on his chest and her arm throw up and over his shoulder.

Dean chose that moment to walk back into the room from having dealt with Constancia.

Before him was his Michaela, passed out over Sam who was still covered in blood and lying on the floor. He watched in stunned silence, frozen to the spot as he watched his little brother sit up and cradle Dean’s mate in his arms and try to awaken her. Cries of her name and demands to wake up echoed through the now silent halls.

“Mike!” Dean screamed, shaking himself out of his stupor, rushing over and falling to his knees. “Sam, what the hell happened? What did she do?”

Sam looked up at his brother, tears pooling in his eyes. “Dean I’m so sorry, I tried to stop her, I swear I tried! The knife punctured my lung and she insisted on healing me.”

Dean pulled Mike into his arms, a horrible feeling of déjà vu running through his head. It had only been minutes since her last brush with death, since he had last held her in his arms and pleaded for her to stay and keep breathing.

Michaela’s breathing was weak and getting weaker. Her Grace so depleted that her wings had released and were sprawled limply behind her, golden feathers dragging through the pools of her and Sam’s blood.

_Cas, please Cas if you can hear me. She’s dying. Michaela’s dying._

* * *

Castiel heard the hunter’s prayer. He had also heard Michaela’s before and had dropped everything to come to Sam’s aid. Unfortunately as the Angel had neared the convent, he’d been ambushed by a veritable army of demons. As he fought them off, he could only hope and pray that the Winchesters’ luck held until he could reach them.

As another demon screamed and fell at the pierce of his Angel blade, Castiel realized this time he could not ignore the prayers. Using his Grace, he forced out a wave of energy to push back the demons that surrounded him then flew as quickly as he could towards his queen.

* * *

When the Angel arrived back at the convent, he knew it would be bad, but he wasn’t expecting this. He wasn’t expecting to see his future queen, barely clinging to life in Dean’s embrace, wings and arms sprawled limply and forming a bloody, macabre pieta.

For the second time that night, Castiel fell to his knees to heal the nephilim. The Angel’s grace flowed into Michaela’s body, but it merely circled and spun then returned to him, finding none of her Grace to hold onto. There was nothing physical to heal either, but still she slept like the dead.

“Cas? What’s wrong?” Dean asked, still staring down at Michaela and panic rising in his voice. “Why isn’t she waking up? You’re not done healing her! Do something!”

“I’m sorry Dean,” Cas said quietly,”I’ve done all I can. Her body has been fully healed, however her Grace is depleted and until it is recharged, so to speak, she will remain weak and vulnerable. She needs time to recover her strength.”

“How long Cas?”

“I don’t know. I’ve done what I can for her and she is not in pain. Michaela must be kept safe as she is incredibly vulnerable at this time. Even if she awakens, she will still be very weak.”

Castiel didn’t know if or when Michaela would wake up, but he would assist the hunters in keeping her safe for as long as necessary.

“Wait, what do you mean if? Cas? What the hell man, you’re saying Mike might not wake up?!”

Castiel looked down sadly at Dean still sitting on the floor with Michaela in his arms. No words needed to be spoken in answer to the hunter’s question as it was written all over the angel’s face, and once again he could not lie to his hunter.

* * *

Dean looked down at his mate, a tear dripping down his cheek silently. Leaning down, he kissed her forehead gently and whispered for her to come back to him, he was waiting for her. The hunter felt movement, slight and gentle, just a shiver.

When he opened his eyes, Michaela was gone.

 


	17. Who's Your Daddy?

It’s been two weeks since Michaela disappeared. During that time the Winchester brothers have been through fifteen states, dozens of dead end leads, and countless bottles of Jim, Jack, and Jose. Well, the triplets have mostly been with Dean. Somebody has to be semi-sober and that designation has gone to Sam.

Castiel checks in once a day with updates and spends the rest of the time searching for his queen. Each day he looks more rumpled and disheartened, which is saying something for the usually prim and stoic Angel of the Lord.

The last words Michaela had spoken to Sam tumbled around and around in their brains until they’d become a mantra:

> _“I’ve already made arrangements. My body will automatically be transported to a place where no one but you or your brother will know to look. I’ll be safe there until you and Dean can come to burn my body. Your father was a paranoid bastard._
> 
> _Automatically transported…you will know where to look…I’ll be safe until you can come burn my body… your father was a paranoid bastard._
> 
> _Transported…you know where to look…come burn my body.”_

* * *

The hunters had finally arrived at the bunker, out of leads, energy and ideas. Exhaustion had taken over and they could no longer walk straight much less think clearly. Upon entering, the brothers walked to their respective rooms in silence, dropped their bags and passed out.

Two hours later Castiel arrived to give the hunters an update and unceremoniously awakened Dean from a deep sleep, scaring him enough that the Angel was almost stabbed. Again. Upon realizing who it was, Dean ordered him to their new living room and told him to relax and watch tv until they awoke. Preferably in eight to ten hours.

* * *

Michaela rounded a corner, and approached Dean as he huddled beneath a rocky overhang trying to stay relatively dry and warm in the rain. At that moment he looked up and saw her, and it was obvious he didn’t quite know what to do, skittishly shuffling from one foot to the other

Within moments Mike was standing beside him, but still Dean refused to look up, staring down as though their feet held the answers to the universe. That is until he saw her hand slowly enter his line of site and reach out to cup his cheek. Gently applying pressure, she forced him to look up at her.

What he saw in her eyes was not what he’d expected. He didn’t understand how she did not hate him. He hated himself for what he’d done in the pit.

“I love you Dean. I could never hate you,” Mike whispered, just loud enough for him to hear over the wind and rain that blew around them. “What you did, going to hell for your brother, was done out of love. A heart so big could never withstand the kind of pain and anguish something like Alastair could inflict. Instead it turned in and protected itself, the very core of you. How else could you have returned and become so close to what you once were?”

“Bobby once told you that you were a better man than your father ever was. I know you loved John, but Bobby was right. His strength in withstanding Alastair was partly due to not possessing the kind of soul you have or having your heart’s capacity to love.”

Dean stared into Michaela’s eyes as though in a trance, as though if they broke contact the spell would be broken. His breath was rough, flowing in and out of his lungs loudly as he listened to her words, wishing desperately to believe them, but knowing that he probably wouldn’t. She was just the latest in a long line of people to tell him it wasn’t his fault, including Bobby and Sam.

Mike leaned in, wrapping her arms around Dean, using her hands against his back to press him close to her, chest to chest. She reached up and gently kissed his cheek, then snuggled her nose into his neck, knowing he no longer needed words. Dean now needed time. Time to digest and think about the words she’d said, and hopefully to accept them. She was his and he was hers; forever. At last.

* * *

Dean awoke slowly, taking in his surroundings bit by bit. The feel of the bed, the funky smell of the clothes he’d worn for more than 24 hours, not to mention the pounding in his head. His eyes began to drift open and managed to focus on the tile ceiling, confirming that he was in his room in the bunker.

The sudden realization that those moments with Michaela in the rain had all been a dream, that her forgiveness had been his sad wishful thinking, twisted what was left of his heart into knots. And his stomach.

Dean rolled over and promptly threw up.

* * *

After an hour of throwing his own personal pity party, Dean crawled out of bed and went to scrape the barnacles off his body in the shower. He felt grungy and disgusting, which wasn’t helping his mood. A half hour later, feeling lighter and semi-human in clean clothes, he padded barefoot through the bunker and into the kitchen.

Sam was already sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee and staring off into space. Noticing his big brother, he gestured over his shoulder to the coffee pot and pushed an empty cup toward him.

Dean grabbed the cup and went to fill it up, then returned to sit with the taller hunter. The two of them sat in silence, sipping their coffee and avoiding each other’s eyes. After a while, Dean remembered Castiel showing up the night before and asked his brother where he was. Sam shrugged his shoulders; he hadn’t even known the angel was there.

“Cas!” Dean hollered over his shoulder, “Get your ass over here! Cas? You still here?”

“Hello Dean,” Cas replied from directly over Dean’s shoulder, causing the hunter to jump in his chair.

“Jesus Cas, don’t sneak up on me like that. What did I tell you about personal space?” Dean groused. “Where the hell have you been?”

“You asked me to wait in the living room and watch television. Then you called for me to come into the kitchen,” Castiel said with his usual dry air. “Did you know there is a channel that completely devotes itself to the subject of golf? It’s quite fascinating.”

Dean rolled his eyes, then for the first time in days, took a really good look at the Angel. There was a weariness to him, a smudge of darkness around his eyes, a slump to his usual soldier stiff shoulders. His trench coat carried smudges of dirt and who knew what on the cuffs while his hair was even messier than usual.

“It’s golf Cas, which is barely more interesting than watching paint dry. And you look like shit,” Dean muttered, “Pull up a chair before you fall over.”

“You look no better than I,” Castiel replied, sitting beside the hunters.

“Yeah, like I said, you look like shit,” the hunter agreed. “So, got anything to report or another big fat zero?”

The Angel glanced up at the two hunters then back down at his hands, resting on the table. Technically he hadn’t found anything new but he did have some new theories. He just he wasn’t sure how well they would be met by the brothers. If he was wrong, it would be another disappointment that he didn’t know if they could take.

Castiel fidgeted in his chair and cleared his throat while the hunters looked on questioningly.

“Cas if you got something man, spit it out,” Dean growled impatiently, “Did you find anything or not?”

“I have not discovered Michaela’s location per se, but I have been thinking about what she told Sam.”

“Ugh, Cas, we’ve been over it a hundred times. We’ve checked all the secret stashes Dad had under all his aliases, plus a few that turned out to actually belong to someone else. It’s gotta be some kind of code or something,” Dean sighed dejectedly. “I just wish we could figure it out. Apparently I’m not as smart as she thinks I am.”

“You are a very intelligent man Dean, I’ve never understood why you doubt yourself so much. A lack of formal education does not dictate the amount of knowledge you possess. Most high school dropouts cannot recite Latin or …”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m brilliant and awesome. Spit it out Cas, what do you think you figured out?”

Castiel glared at Dean, “I think perhaps the problem is not that there is an unknown location or that Michaela was speaking in code. My belief is that we are beginning our deductions at the wrong starting point. If our initial assumption is flawed, all deductions from that point will inherently be wrong as well.”

Dean peered at the Angel through bloodshot, hung-over eyes, “Huh?”

“I believe that when Michaela referred to your father, she was not referring to John. I believe she meant Bobby,” Castiel stated, looking over at Dean’s slouched figure.

Dean blinked at the Angel blankly, trying to process the information he’d been given. Sam was a little faster on the uptake, given that he did not have a hangover to deal with.

“So you’re saying we should assume she’s in one of Bobby’s hiding spots instead?” Sam asked, slowly coming around to the idea. “I suppose it’s a possibility she meant him. At least it gives us more places to look. What do you think Dean? Dean?”

But Dean wasn’t listening, instead staring off into space and looking partially catatonic, his mind having taken off at a full gallop the moment he’d heard Cas’ suggestion. If he was right, it would change everything they’d assumed up to this point wouldn’t it? This assumption gave them a whole new way of looking at Mike’s message, giving them new places to look, new clues to find.

_“Your father was a paranoid bastard.”_

Dean suddenly knew exactly where Michaela was. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before, it was so obvious. It was brilliant and made perfect sense; she was basically hiding in plain sight.

“Cas is right,” Dean blurted out suddenly, surprising his brother and Castiel, “Bobby is the paranoid bastard she meant. His property is warded from everything and nobody would look for her there because she has no personal connection to him.”

“But Dean she could be anywhere! Bobby had storage lockers and hiding places all over the place,” Sam said frustratedly. “Besides, she never even met him!”

“She’s at his house Sam, Bobby deeded us the land when he died remember? She knows about that, I told her!” Dean said excitedly, jumping up and beginning to pace. “Cas, can you go now? It’ll take us a while to get there so if you can go now and check on her that would be great. I’m gonna get dressed and pack my stuff. Sammy can you be ready in half an hour?”

“Wait! Dean, wait a minute dammit!” Sam yelled, jumping up from the table and running after his brother. “Bobby’s house is gone remember? It burned to the ground, we saw it. Let’s step back for a minute and think about this before we go driving all over the country again looking for her body.”

Dean turned and grabbed his brother’s shoulders, a big grin on his face for the first time since Mike had left.

“The panic room! She’s alive and she’s in the panic room Sammy! It’s made of solid iron and it’s buried in the basement. The fire would have never gotten hot enough to melt it, not without a massive amount of accelerant. Mike is alive down there where she knew she’d be protected from everything because Bobby was a paranoid bastard!” Dean finished with glee, slapping Sam’s shoulder with his hand and walking off toward his room.

“That’s why she chose that location, because she could hide her survival in plain sight. If she was dead, her body would have never left, it was already with us, but a live Nephilim is like a homing beacon. She was endangering us by staying when she was that weak. And Bobby’s house is a perfect place to hide. Nobody else knows about the panic room. Damn my girl is a genius!” The elder hunter gushed over his shoulder as he walked away.

Sam stood there and stared at his brother’s back as he walked away. He had no idea if Dean and Cas were right about Mike being alive or where she was located, but he prayed with all his heart that they were. He didn’t think any of them could take the heartbreak of another dead end.


	18. Hidden in Plain Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the last chapter was so short. Hope this helps make up for it. Would love to hear from you!

A little over 300 miles away, buried under the burned out shell of a house, sits an iron room warded from angels and demons alike. Covered in a blanket of snow, even the ashes are hidden from the eyes of passersby. Formerly the home of the town drunk, most of the city of Sioux Falls has forgotten the Singer house ever existed and the rest are glad to be rid of any reminders.

Ten feet down and through a hidden iron door lays a Nephilim, blissfully unaware of the pitiful state she is in. Her blood encrusted clothes and feathers have begun to smell and harden, her wings limp and bedraggled. She is draped haphazardly on the bed, as though someone dumped her body there carelessly.

It wouldn’t matter so much if she was dead as she appears to be, but she isn’t. The Winchester brothers don’t know for sure if she is alive or if they are searching for her body in need of a hunter’s burial. They don’t know that she is weak and dirty and alone and waiting for them to find her.

* * *

By the side of a South Dakota highway stands a dark haired man in a trench coat, staring at the charred skeletal remains of the Singer house dusted in snow. In a blink he is gone, hidden from view in what remains of the basement, just outside the panic room. Seeing the door blocked by debris, Castiel begins to move broken beams and charred bits of rubble.

Once the way is clear he sees the wards, keeping both Angels and Demons from entering. Then he notices one placed right in the center of the door, slightly different from usual, one he has never seen before. Running his fingers across the sigil on the rusted iron door, the Angel realizes it has his name in Enochian incorporated into it.

Castiel isn’t completely sure of its meaning, however he knows his queen would do him no intentional harm. Testing a theory, he gently grabs the handle and pulls, only mildly surprised and quite pleased when it opens easily. The Angel smiles to himself when he realizes his brilliant Nephilim queen has discovered a way to block all angels but him.

But Cas’ pleased feelings do not last long, not when he takes a good look at the inside of the panic room. Rushing to Michaela’s side, he verified that she was still alive and adjusted her body more comfortably on the bed. The Angel’s first instinct was to care for her himself, however he knew Dean would prefer to do it. Making his decision, Castiel turned and left the panic room, flying off to his hunter.

* * *

“Dean, you must come with me immediately,” Cas states urgently, his growl of a voice sounding even deeper, if that was possible.

Dean swerved Baby into the oncoming lane, not realizing that the Angel had appeared in the back seat. He had been so intent on his need to get to Mike that he’d developed tunnel vision as he barreled down the highway.

“Jesus Cas!” Dean yelled, trying to calm his heart, “Warn a guy will ya? What’s going on? Did you find her?”

Castiel paused for a moment, wondering exactly what to say. The Winchesters were often correcting his speech and he knew that eloquence was not his strong point. He needed to convey the urgency of the situation, but did not want to cause Dean to panic since Michaela was technically safe and alive.

“I have found Michaela in the panic room as you suspected, and she is alive, however she requires assistance. I can help her but I thought perhaps you would prefer to care for her personally instead. I suggest you allow Sam to take over driving the Impala and come with me now,” Castiel insisted.

“Cas, you’re scaring me. You said she was ok,” Dean argued, pulling Baby over onto the shoulder of the highway with a spray of gravel. He jumped out of the driver seat and ran to the trunk to grab his bag. Castiel appeared behind the car and peered over the hunter’s shoulder, while Sam took the keys and went to take over the driver’s seat.

“I’ll meet you guys there,” Sam said before sliding into the car. “If you need anything, just call me and I’ll pick up any supplies on my way in.”

Dean nodded to his brother and slammed the trunk shut. Tapping the car twice with his hand to signal he was done, he stepped back and watched Sammy drive away. Turning around to the Angel, he stepped forward and closed his eyes, waiting for the requisite touch to transport him to their destination.

* * *

Dean shivered in the cold, now open aired, basement and tried to orient himself after his trip on Angel express. South Dakota was much colder than Kansas and he hoped Michaela had thought of some sort of heating system for the panic room or they were both going to freeze their asses off.

“She’s in there, but Dean you should understand something, “Castiel warned, gesturing to the iron door, “She looks exactly the same as when she transported weeks ago. I believe she’s been unconscious ever since.”

The image of a bloody and bruised Mike came to the forefront of Dean’s mind. Crap. He understood what Cas was saying now. His girl might be alive but she probably looked like hell. Nodding at the Angel, the hunter squared his shoulders and reached for the cold iron door to the panic room, ready for anything.

* * *

If Michaela wasn’t breathing, Dean would think she was already dead. Tattered clothes soaked in blood stuck to her skin. Her feathers clumped together and stood up haphazardly in all different directions. He knew they would pull and hurt if she tried to move her wings. Running his hands across them, he felt the crusted blood, rough and crumbling beneath his fingers.

Dean touched her hands and face, cringing when he realized she was ice cold. Not for the first time he thanked the probably-absent-God-in-heaven that Michaela was a Nephilim and stronger than a normal human. If she wasn’t, she’d have frozen to death long ago. He cursed himself for taking so long to figure out where she was, forcing her to lie here in filth and the freezing cold for weeks.

Dean dropped his bag and took off his jacket to get to work. It was beginning to get dark and they were going to need heat and light. Looking around, he noticed a terra cotta chimenea along the wall on the other side of the bed with a small pile of wood next to it. A pipe had been added to the top to guide the smoke up and out, giving it the ability to warm the room without smoking them out.

**Chiminea in the panic room.**

“Hey Cas, can you start a fire in there for me?” Dean asked as he pointed to the small Mexican-style chimney. The Angel nodded and went to do as instructed. Mike may be a Nephilim but he wouldn’t risk getting her sick and it would be so easy in her weakened state in this cold. It would take a while to warm the room enough to undress and wash Mike so while he was waiting, the hunter decided to take stock of the rest of the room to see what he had to work with and what was still needed.

A chest of drawers behind him caught his eye first and he went to investigate. On top was a black bag that produced medical supplies and a large five gallon bottle of clean water with a spigot. Within its drawers he found clean clothes and toiletries, then extra blankets and linens below that. A little digging produced warm, if totally not sexy, pajamas and thick wool socks. Although, he had to admit she was going to look adorable in flannel Hello Kitty PJ’s.

Turning back, Dean looked around to take in the entire room as a whole. Somehow Mike had managed to turn a big iron room (tube? silo?) into a cozy bedroom in the middle of a South Dakota winter. It was also the safest place for her to recover, so at least there were some creature comforts. He had a feeling he might be here for a while, at least a few days.

**What Bobby's panic room originally looked like.**

Soft carpets overlapped under his feet, forming a multicolor patchwork all over the floor. It reminded him to pull off his boots and place them by the door so he didn’t track mud and snow all over the room. Thick tapestries (Turkish? Middle Eastern?) hung high against the cold, rusty metal walls and draped over his head, forming a makeshift tented ceiling twelve feet up. So that was how she was going to keep the heat in, Dean thought, smirking to himself knowingly.

The bed Michaela slept in looked old but solid and sturdy, and was piled high with blankets. Once she was cleaned up and cared for Dean knew she’d stay nice and warm surrounded by the canopy and curtains of thick fabric while she slept. He looked forward to snuggling in under the covers with her later. For extra warmth of course. Yeah, right.

The room was beginning to warm, so Dean got to work taking care of Mike. He gently tugged off her clothes where they’d stuck to her skin, having to resort to cutting off her leather jacket to prevent twisting her into a pretzel. She was limp in his arms so he had to take his time and roll her from side to side in order to get everything off of her. The scents of old sweat and blood were almost overwhelming to his senses.

The hunter had yet to be intimate with Michaela, although they’d slept in the same bed together, and it made him feel like a creep and a voyeur to be seeing her in this vulnerable undressed state without her consent or knowledge. Dean tried to preserve some of her modesty by covering her body with a sheet and only uncovering the body part he was cleaning at the time.

Using a damp hand towel and soap he started to clean the remains of blood and sweat from her limbs one at a time, averting his eyes and trying to rush through it when he got to her more sensitive and private areas. (Ok, so he might have a peeked. A couple of times.) Once her body was clean and re-clothed in the soft flannel pajamas and socks, he started in on her wings.

It took time, painstakingly pulling the clumps of blood and debris from her feathers, then coming back with a wet soapy towel to wipe off what remained.

Castiel brought Dean a small glass bottle filled with liquid. “This is wing oil. Once it is applied to Michaela’s feathers they will soften and allow you to straighten them more easily.”

Dean took the bottle from the Angel gratefully and thanked him, then took a good look at the clean but very messy wingspan in front of him. This was going to take a while he thought, as he spread one of her cleaned wings out and sat on the floor to begin. Oh well, he had nothing but time anyway and he wanted to do this right, to show her that he could care for her when she needed him most, that she could count on him.

After all, Michaela would awaken soon, and he was sure she would be very appreciative of the fact that he’d done such a good job grooming her wings. And maybe, if he plays his cards right, this will be something he’ll will be helping her with for many years to come.

* * *

“Dean,” Castiel said quietly about an hour later, placing his hand on Dean’s shoulder, “Sam is on the phone. He is almost in Sioux Falls and wants to know if you need anything.”

The hunter looked up slightly startled, having lost himself in his thoughts and the repetitiveness of the grooming. He had temporarily forgotten that the Angel was still there and hadn’t even heard the phone ring.

“Umm, yeah Cas, tell him we’ll need food, more water for drinking and some firewood. Also, he should get himself a room in town,” Dean added. “I’ll be staying here with Mike and there’s not enough room for him too so he might as well be comfortable. And warm.”

The Angel nodded and relayed the message to Sam as he stepped back out of the room and reached over to close the door behind him to keep in the heat.

“And Cas! Tell him coffee! Or hot chocolate. Both, tell him to bring both!” Dean yelled at the door. Castiel’s waving hand over his shoulder before the door shut completely was the only acknowledgement he got, but it would have to do. Dammit, he forgot to ask for pie. How could he forget the pie?

Returning to his task, Dean realized that Michaela’s wings were finally completely clean and groomed with the wing oil Cas had provided. The only thing he hadn’t worked on was her hair but as cold as it was he didn’t feel comfortable washing it and getting the bed all wet. Maybe he could get Cas to mojo it clean since he had done everything else by hand.

As if he’d been prayed for, Castiel walked back through the large metal door. “Sam assures me he will take care of the required necessities. He should be here in approximately an hour. Do you require my assistance?”

Dean nodded, “Yeah Cas, there are a couple things. First, you mind using your mojo on her hair? I’m gonna get her bed all wet if I try to wash it, plus it’s too cold for her to just sit around with wet hair.”

The Angel nodded and gave a small wave toward Michaela. “Of course.”

“Thanks man,” Dean said when he saw her clean soft hair spread across the pillow. “And the second thing. I’m going to lift her up; can you pull back the covers for me?”

Castiel nodded and reached down to assist the hunter, then stood back. Realizing that Dean was lost as to how to arrange her wings, he explained the best way to fold them in and situate them comfortably beneath her while she slept. Once the hunter was satisfied with their arrangement, he tucked Michaela in under the multiple layers of blankets and quilts on her bed. All that was left to do was to wait, and watch.

* * *

Dean was standing in the snow near what used to be Bobby’s front porch when Sam drove up in the Impala. It was dusk, almost full dark, and only the Impala’s headlights revealed his presence. Collar pulled up, shoulders hunched against the cold, he walked over to help his little brother unload the car.

“You get everything?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, I got everything you asked for. Plus some extra stuff like a camp stove so you can heat up your food.”

Dean nodded as he silently began to unload the supplies, his brother watching him warily. “How is she?” he asked quietly.

The older hunter stopped for a moment, staring down into the trunk of the Impala as he considered the best way to explain Michaela’s condition. “She’s comatose almost, doesn’t speak or move or make any sounds. She was a mess, found her the same way we last saw her. I cleaned her up and did what I could for her. Now we just wait.

Sam nodded in silent understanding and grabbed some bags from the Impala’s trunk. He walked over to the house and stood at the edge of the open basement, now a glorified hole in the ground filled with burnt debris. “Dean, how the hell did you get down there and back out again?”

“Angel express got me in there the first time, but I used the stairs to get out again. They’re singed but still pretty solid. Cas and I gave them some extra support to make them sturdier.

Sam nodded, wondering if it would be appropriate to ask to see Mike or not. She was his friend too, hell he’d spent more time with her over the past few weeks and she’d started to feel like a sister. They’d fought and laughed and drank and lived together while Dean was off on a quest to deny the inevitable. But that didn’t mean that Dean would see it that way.

The two hunters walked around to the blackened stairs and began to cart the supplies down. Firewood was stacked along the outside wall of the panic room, right near the iron door in the event of more snow making it difficult to get in and out. The camp stove set on some boards stretched across the legs of an old table that somehow managed to survive when its top did not.

“Dean? How are we going to keep her warm? I mean I know Mike is a Nephilim but still, South Dakota winters are brutal, especially at night, and that old cot Bobby had in there isn’t exactly warm or comfortable. I should know,” Sam added under his breath.

Dean smiled at his brother. “Oh ye of little faith. You underestimate Mike’s genius and her OCD need to be ready for anything. Come on, bring in the water. I got the food.”

The older hunter pulled open the big door, hinges creaking in the cold, and ushered his brother into the panic room. Sam was duly impressed with the setup, if his open mouthed trout impression was anything to go by.

“Wow,” the taller hunter chuckled, “I thought the redecorating job she did on my room was awesome.”

Dean looks at his brother questioningly, unable to stop his brain from wondering why she was in Sam’s room, much less redecorating it. He wisely chose to not say anything, trusting his future mate and his brother too much to believe something romantic happened between them. Instead, he takes his insecurities and ingrained suspicion of everyone and shoves them down deep until they are buried. At least for now.

“You can say hi if you want,” Dean tells the younger hunter, shifting from foot to foot uncertainly. “I figure if she is in a kind of coma, she can probably hear us, you know? I read about that somewhere. Thought about asking Cas to find a radio so I can play some music for her too.”

Sam nodded in agreement and walked over to Michaela’s side, the top of her head and her curls the only thing peeking out from the covers on the bed. With one hand he tugged her blanket down a bit to reveal her face and say hello. Gently, he touched her cheek and relayed to his brother that she was warm now, thankfully.

Dean sighed in relief, he had known he was worrying needlessly but it still made him feel better. Setting down the bags of food and supplies on the trunk at the end of the bed, he ran his fingers through his hair and watched his gigantor brother talk to Mike softly. Sam settled himself on the floor by her bed and filled her in on what had been happening over the past few weeks.

“I’m gonna start up the camp stove so I can heat up dinner, ok?”

Sam nodded at Dean in acknowledgement as he watched his older brother re-button his jacket and head back out into the snowy basement with one of the bags of groceries. Returning his attention back to Michaela, Sam took her hand in his and searched for the right words to say in the hopes that she really could hear him.

“We’ve missed you Mike. Dean’s been drinking too many of his meals and honestly I haven’t been eating much either. You gotta come back to us sweetheart. Dean has finally realized what you mean to him but he’s spiraling down, and if you don’t come back I don’t think he will either. I can’t lose him Mike; I can’t lose either of you, but especially him. Not again. He’s my big brother and I love him. He deserves to be happy and you are the only one that can do that.”

Sam stood and stretched his long legs, hearing his joints pop in protest and hoping his prayer had reached the appropriate ears. He gently pushed Michaela’s hair out of her face and placed her hand back under the covers, tucking her in snugly. Realizing it was beginning to get colder in the room, he went over to the chimenea and stoked the fire, adding more firewood as he went. Noticing the pile next to it was getting smaller, he figured he should bring some more inside, at least enough to last through the night.

Tugging his coat back on, Sam pried open the iron panic room door and went to grab an armful of wood. Dean looked up from the camp stove where he was heating up some canned stew, surprising the younger hunter. He couldn’t remember the last time his brother had had a filling meal, especially without coaxing.

“Enjoy your conversation?” the older hunter asked.

His brother grinned back at him as he picked up another log, “Yeah, enlightening. She has a lot of great opinions on current events.”

Dean chuckled, turning back to the stove to turn it off and dump the stew into a paper bowl. Thank goodness Sam remembered something to put the food in and eat it with.

The taller hunter just shook his head at his brother’s less than funny sense of humor and headed back into the room with his load of firewood. After stacking logs neatly by the chimenea, Sam stood, turning back to Mike as he dusted off his hands. It was then that he took good look at her and gasped at what he saw.

“Dean! Get in here!” Sam yelled, tearing the door open and yelling for his brother. “Hurry,” he whispered, turning back to Michaela and running his fingers through his hair.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, but we're in the home stretch. Almost done. Would love to hear from you. Comments=Love!

Dean’s heart stopped when he heard the urgency in his brother’s voice calling him back into the panic room. He dropped his food and all but sprinted in, shoving the door aside, tripping over the threshold and almost knocking Sam down in the process. Skidding to a stop beside Mike’s bed, the hunter could only stare and try not to panic.

“Her wings Dean,” Sam said urgently, “They’re gone. What does that mean?”

The older hunter gulped and tried to control his breathing. “I can see they’re gone Sammy, I’m not blind! I… I don’t know. Maybe it’s a good thing? Right? If she has enough power to hide them that means she’s getting better.”

Sam shook his head in confusion and frowned, “Maybe. But how do we know they’re just hidden and not, you know, gone?”

Stepping closer to Michaela’s sleeping form, Dean gently ran his knuckles across her cheek then laid a palm on her forehead. “She’s still warm and her breathing is steady and strong, but there’s no fever. I don’t believe it. If they were just gone, she would be weaker, look sicker; she’d be in pain. I can’t believe they’re gone.”

The taller hunter stayed silent, unsure of what to say next. He hoped his brother was right about her. Not for the first time, he wished he had the powers of an angel to see wings on another plane of existence.

“Dean? Where’s Cas? Maybe he’ll be able to tell, you know, if they’re still there.”

The older hunter snuffled into his sleeve and nodded in agreement. “Don’t know where he went. I’ll go outside and pray to him. I’m not sure if my prayers will get through the sigils in here,” he said gruffly.

Dean walked out into the cold and breathed the iciness in deeply, allowing it to calm him and help him think straight. After a moment, he sent up his prayer. “Cas, you got your ears on man? I just checked on Mike and we got a problem. I can’t see her wings anymore.”

“What is wrong with Michaela’s wings?”

The hunter turned to face Cas, already used to him showing up unexpectedly and in odd locations. Behind his back was nothing new.

“She’s still inside Cas, but we can’t see her wings anymore. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” Dean said worriedly, running his fingers through his hair.

Castiel nodded in understanding and strode quickly into the panic room and knelt by Michaela’s side. She appeared to be resting comfortably, just as she had been when he left. It appeared that nothing had changed other than her wings. The Angel brushed his fingertips across her forehead, and then tucked a curl behind her ear. He softly patted her shoulder and stood to reassure the hunter.

“She appears to be fine. Her wings are still intact and appear healthy, however they are no longer visible on this plane of existence. I would take this as a positive sign that she is healing since she is strong enough now to accomplish this.” Castiel said. “There is no need to be concerned at this time.”

Both Winchesters nodded, their shoulders visibly relaxing as they loudly exhaled the breath they’d been holding.

“Thanks Cas. Appreciate it,” Dean muttered, the Angel nodding in acknowledgement. “It’s getting late. You gonna hang around or take off?”

Castiel cocked his head to the side for a moment. “I believe I will be leaving if my presence is no longer necessary. If you require my assistance, please feel free to contact me again. I will “keep my ears on,” as you say.”

Dean smiled and nodded at the Angel in acknowledgement as he stepped back out of the room and flew away. Sam followed Cas out of the panic room and paused.

“I’m gonna head back to the hotel man. I’ll bring breakfast in the morning when I come check on you, ok?”

“Yeah ok, I’ll see ya man.”

“Try to eat something. And get some sleep. You won’t be any good to Mike if you’re exhausted and make yourself sick.”

“Yeah, yeah, Samantha, I get it. Get going already. It’s freezing and the roads are gonna suck. And don’t hurt my baby.”

Sam rolled his eyes and grunted at his brother in mock annoyance, throwing in a bitchface for good measure. Dean followed him out the door and shut the rusty old door behind him as softly as possible, as if waking Michaela were an issue.

The older hunter looked around and saw his dinner, now nearly frozen and sitting next to the camp stove. He was a little hungry, and it was going to get colder later into the night, a time he did not want to be leaving the warm panic room for food. Better go ahead and eat now. Re-heating the canned stew didn’t take long, thank goodness, and in a few minutes he was turning everything off and cradling the steaming bowl in his hands.

The iron door creaked open in the cold and Dean felt the rush of warmth coming from inside the panic room hit his face. He shuffled in and closed the door quickly, knowing the cold was flowing in along with the loss of heat. Kicking off his still untied boots again, he padded over to Mike’s bed in socked feet.

Sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed, the hunter appreciated the warmth of the bowl thawing his fingers and sat in silence as he ate and wondered what he should do now. He’d done as much for her as he could, other than feeding her, but he wasn’t sure she’d be able to swallow anything without choking. Maybe he’d text Sammy and ask him to pick up some broth for her. Or those juice drinks you give little kids when they’re sick so they don’t get dehydrated.

Deciding that any talking was better than the overwhelming silence, Dean began to rattle off whatever came to his head as he ate. What he and Sam had been doing over the past few weeks that she’d missed. Things he wanted to work on in the Impala. His reasoning as to why Classic Rock is a better genre of music than anything else, especially compared to what’s on the radio now.

* * *

Dean puttered around once he was done eating, using a bit of water to rinse his bowl and then fling it out the door. Humming Eye of the Tiger under his breath, he began digging through his duffel for a T-shirt and sport pants to sleep in then banked up the fire enough to warm the room through the frigid South Dakota night.

The carpets and drapes were doing a decent job of keeping the heat in, but it still called for plenty of blankets to stay warm as the temperature dipped lower. Dean stood holding his sleeping bag and staring off into space, trying to decide the best course of action.

By all rights, he really should bunk on the floor with his flannel lined sleeping bag and some blankets. On the other hand, it would be really nice to sleep next to Michaela again. But she wasn’t awake to give him permission to join her in bed.

Then again, he had been welcomed before and it wasn’t like he was going to try anything. He wasn’t a pervert who assaulted comatose women, not to mention this was the woman he was going to spend the rest of his life with, his soul mate. Not that she knew that yet. He should probably tell her that once she woke up, he thought. Yeah, definitely gotta remember to do that.

Dean made up his mind, dropping the sleeping bag in a corner and padding over soft carpet to Michaela’s side. He watched her sleep for a moment, peaceful in her oblivion, and he couldn’t help wondering if she was dreaming. Could she hear him like he thought she could? Anything was possible, but then again she wasn’t human was she? No, his girl was special, super, super-human. She was a Nephilim and if anyone could wake up from whatever this was, it was her.

He gently pulled back the covers and slid his forearms under Mike’s shoulders and knees to move her over on the bed a bit. Now that her wings were on another plane it was a lot easier to get her situated and comfortable. Dean slipped into the bed beside her, surprised how great the mattress felt, although considering she’d thought of everything else, he really shouldn’t be.

Dean rolled onto his side and wrapped an arm around her waist. Cuddling them together under the covers that he’d pulled up to their chins would keep them warm in case the fire went out in the middle of the night. Yeah, that was the reason for the cuddling. And the snuggling. Right. Purely survival and practical reasons.

The hunter grunted disagreeably to himself at his train of thought and leaned over Mike to switch off the little battery operated lamp on the side table. The lamp was small, but then so was the panic room and turning it off plunged the room into a deep shade of dusk with only the glow of the fire providing any light. It was actually kind of romantic if he thought about it. You know, if he wasn’t in bed with his comatose mate in the middle of frickin’ South Dakota in a damn snow storm. Oh, and in an underground metal panic room, let’s not forget that.

But now was not the time to think about romance. Now was the time for sleep, and in the morning, he and Sammy and Cas would put their heads together and try to figure out a way to get Mike better. Maybe moving her to the Bunker really would be better, that way they would have access to the library there and be better equipped to help her.

Shaking his head, Dean relaxed into his pillow and pulled Michaela close to his chest. One way or another, he was getting his girl better. Come hell or high water, and since he had already survived the harder of those two, he could definitely do this.

“Night Mike,” He whispered as he snuffled into her hair. “Love you.”

* * *

Somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind, Michaela heard her mate’s words and whispered back a good night and an “I love you” as well. Soon she hoped, very soon, she’d be strong enough to tell him out loud. She just needed time.

* * *

Outside in the snow above them, Castiel stood watch like a sentinel, using every heightened sense his Father had given him. He didn’t care that the panic room was warded against everything they could think of. Feeling helpless was not something he enjoyed, not with his experience as a warrior of Heaven. He did not know how to awaken his Queen, but at least this he could contribute.

If a threat was perceived he could get to Dean and Michaela and warn them. With enough time he could grab them both and drag them out of the panic room and transport them to the bunker or another safe house. Her mother was dead, the threat of that woman’s anger and misery fueled revenge had been stopped. Now, he could only wait under the stars in the silence, and pray that whatever happened, his Queen would survive.

 


	20. It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize to all of my readers. I never meant to let this lapse go on this long. What began as a mental block turned into dealing with the holidays and I just wasn't sure that where I was going with the story was going to do justice to the characters. So I've changed things up there will definitely be some things coming up to surprise you. (And Dean, because really, when do things go well for him?)
> 
> Again, I apologize for the delay and promise that the next chapter won't take months to post. Enjoy!

It’s been a week, and Dean is going stir crazy. Bobby’s panic room was never designed for long term living, no matter how comfortable Mike had made it or how many amenities she had added. It was just too damn small.

It didn’t help that old man winter had blown in with a vengeance, leaving drifts of snow both above and around them. It insulated everything into an unnatural silence. Dean was forced to shovel his way out the door nearly every morning, and he worried if there was a warm spell the melting snow may cause flooding into the room.

Sam came by every other day with supplies and to check in on him. He’d stay with Mike while Dean drove back to the motel room to shower and change and maybe catch a nap in the relative warmth afforded by the ancient motel heater.

Most days he sat and talked to Mike just to hear the sound of his voice. The hunter found a small battery operated radio and tuned it to a local AM jazz station that he hated but new she would like. Occasionally he sang to her, the same song his mother had sung to him and he had sung to his brother as a little boy.

 

> _Hey Jude, don't make it bad_
> 
> _Take a sad song and make it better_
> 
> _Remember to let her into your heart_
> 
> _Then you can start to make it better_

 

“Dean?” Sam asked, entering the panic room on the morning of day eight. “I brought you a hot breakfast. How’s it going?”

His older brother looked up from where he sat on the carpeted floor with his back leaning against Michaela’s bed. He was flipping through some research for a case Sam had been looking into a state away.

“I’m ok. The usual, you know? She’s a great conversationalist. We’ve been having some great chats.”

Sam nodded in understanding, choosing to ignore the blatant sarcasm. He knew Dean wanted to stay near Mike, but it wasn’t doing anyone any good. He needed to stretch his legs and get out and do something. His brother’s temper had been getting worse and Sam knew it was partly due to feeling helpless in this situation.

“Hey, listen. I think we’re pretty sure we’re dealing with a poltergeist on this case we’ve been researching. I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go with me. It shouldn’t take more than a couple days,” Sam urged, hoping his brother would say yes.

Dean looked down at the research still sitting in his lap. From where he sat he could smell the laundry soap on the fresh pair of pajamas he had put on Mike the night before. A flannel Star Wars pair this time. He wanted nothing more than to hear her voice again, to feel her reach out for him, but as each day passed he knew the chances were getting slimmer. The last thing he wanted to do was leave but he was going nuts and the panic room was quickly turning into a personalized, opulent jail cell.

The older hunter looked up at this brother and nodded, scrubbing his face with his hands. “Yeah man. Yeah I’ll go with you. We can go today and be back tomorrow. Quick salt and burn, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah Dean. Quick salt and burn, there and back,” Sam assured him, handing over the still warm bag. “Here, eat your breakfast while it’s hot. I’ll… pack up the car.”

Dean nodded at his brother. No audible reply was necessary, not when they’d been doing this for so long. He picked at his food, trying not to feel guilty about leaving but knowing he had to for his own sanity.

I’ll be back tomorrow, he thought, before she even notices I’m gone. Not that she noticed anything anyway, at least not that he could tell, he told himself, glancing back at her sleeping form.

* * *

It has been four days since Dean was at the panic room to check on Mike. He made excuses of course. The hunt had taken longer than expected, then another had popped up nearby and they couldn’t just ignore it. It would be faster to deal with the new case first rather than drive all the way back to Bobby’s and back again.

The Angel did not approve of the hunters’ continued absence, but said nothing. Castiel had been called to Dean’s side to assist the hunters with a translation and upon discovering the length of their hunt, he quickly left.

Mike was still safe in the panic room; however he noticed that she was no longer lying on her back. Instead she was curled up on her side, cuddled under the blankets.

Seeing his future queen improving warmed his heart, theoretically speaking, however it hurt that her mate and his friend was not here to see it. Looking around, Castiel realized the room had gone cold without anyone to re-light the chiminea and her face was chilled to the touch.

Michaela’s lack of care over the last few days angered him. The Angel knew that Dean had been stressed and overwrought when he was here, locked into the tiny panic room and worried about her, but that didn’t justify his actions, or lack thereof. Nor did it justify him just running away from his obligations. This wasn’t like him.

With a thought, the chiminea came to life with a roaring fire. A touch to Mike’s face ensured that she warmed quickly and verified that she had not become dehydrated or malnourished. Castiel knew he could not stay here the entire time Dean and Sam were gone, however he loathed leaving her alone until they decided to return. An idea sparked in the Angel and he left to gather what he needed.

An hour later Castiel returned feeling lighter, pleased that he could do these small things for his queen and care for her in her time of need. He landed in Bobby’s former basement and entered the ancient rusty door to the panic room with Captain and Royal following closely at his heels.

Unpacking the bags and boxes he carried didn’t take long. On one side went beds for the dogs along with their food and water dishes. Near the bed went a small space heater hooked up to a good sized battery that would last days. The chiminea would no longer be safe with the dogs around; it would be too easy for it to get knocked over.

Rubbing the dogs’ heads, he gave the order to protect, then used his Grace to try to speak to Michaela, letting her know he would be back to check in on her. There was no answer in return however, so he could only hope and pray she heard him.

* * *

It is two days before Christmas. Dean has lost track of how long it’s been since he last saw Michaela. Honestly, he doesn’t really want to count up the days since he knows it’ll just make him feel like a bigger dick than he already does. The only reason he knows when Christmas is is because he saw the calendar behind the register at the convenience store they stopped at.

He and Sam had gone back to check on Mike once and discovered that Cas had been looking after her without telling him. Hell, he even brought her dogs so she wouldn’t be alone and rigged up a heater for her. It looked like the Angel was doing a hell of a lot better job at caring for her than he had been. Not to mention he could pop in and out so he didn’t have to sit around and go stir crazy in that little room like he had.

Dean crawled into bed, trying to adjust to the lumpy motel mattress and ignore the questionable stains on the ceiling. He was going to need a solid four hours if he was going to help his brother gank the witch they’d been tracking. Maybe afterwards he’d go back and spend Christmas with Mike. Maybe he could get her a gift.

A new set of pajamas would be good. Dean wondered if he could find Batman pajamas in her size. He’d steal Sammy’s laptop in the morning while he was in the shower and look online.

* * *

Christmas Eve found Castiel visiting his Queen once again. He knew humans celebrated with a festive tree, so he had decided to bring a small potted tree to brighten the panic room for her. Landing in the snowy basement, he patted his pocket to make sure he had remembered the rawhide bones for the dogs.

The Angel heard barking from inside the panic room and assumed the dogs had picked up the scent of his arrival. Until he heard a feminine voice. Rushing to the door, he used his hands to wipe off the ice and snow that had accumulated on the handle and pried it open.

Sitting cross-legged on the bed was Michaela, reading a book and surrounded by a lounging Captain and Royal. Castiel’s grin grew wide and his heart lightened at seeing his Queen awake and well. Mike looked up and returned the Angel’s smile, beckoning him in.

“Hi Cas. How are you?” Michaela asked.

The Angel’s relief knew no bounds. He rushed to her side and hugged her, much to her surprise. And his too, come to think of it.

“How are you Michaela? Are you well?” he asked, “Do you require anything?”

Mike laughed and shook her head. “No, not right now, although I’d love a hot meal soon. Umm, is Dean with you?”

It broke Castiel’s metaphorical heart hearing the hope and eagerness in Michaela’s voice. “No, he is not. He and Sam are on a hunt in Oregon,” he said quietly.

“I see. Oregon? That’s pretty far away from here isn’t it?” She said, with a wry smile. Mike looks up and sees the Angel’s uncomfortableness and she knows he’s upset on her behalf. She takes his hand to comfort him and offers an encouraging grin. “It will be ok Cas. Don’t worry. I feel much better now and I’m ready to get out of here.”

“Of course,” Castiel replied, “Where would you like to go? Back to the bunker?”

“Yes, I think that would be best until I’m sure that I’ve regained all of my strength,” she said, throwing back the covers and climbing out of bed. She went to the chest of drawers and began rummaging for clean clothes when she suddenly stopped and stood ramrod straight, a t-shirt hanging from her fingertips.

“Michaela? What is it?” The angel asked nervously.

She turned and looked at him, eyes wide then looked over at the dogs. Both had gone still, ears perked up. Captain jumped from the bed and began pacing near the door, a low growl emanating from his throat. Royal ran to his mistress twining around her legs and whining, finally settling his full weight on top of her feet, as though trying to prevent her from leaving.

“I’m not sure Cas. Something is near us, it is very powerful. And Evil. We are in danger here,” she whispered.

Castiel nodded, extending his senses to feel demons surrounding the panic room. They cannot fly away without exiting first, due to all the sigils. On the other hand, battling demons was something they both had a significant amount of experience with and although Mike is still slightly weak, his own level of power and experience will more than make up for it.

A look passed between the Angel and Nephilim, an understanding that they would need to fight their way out until they could fly away to safety.

But no plan ever goes this well. Castiel suddenly felt something else, a larger power than just a demon, and he realizes what Michaela and the dogs have been feeling.

* * *

“MICHAELA!” A voice boomed from outside the panic room, startling its occupants. “You have five minutes to come out, or my demons will do it for you.”

Castiel knows that voice. He'll never forget it.

Crowley.

 


	21. Here Comes the Sun

“Cas? Castiel? Who is that? He is not human,” Michaela said.

“No he is not human,” The Angel replied, “His name is Crowley. He’s the King of Hell.”

Mike’s face pales at this knowledge, her mind running at a furious pace as it comes to terms with the situation they are in. She doesn’t have to ask what he wants. It comes to her quickly and she nearly stumbles at the realization. Moving to sit on the bed, she stared at her feet as though fascinated by her socks.

“Michaela? What is it? You know why he’s here don’t you?” Castiel asked.

The Nephilim nodded solemnly. “He’s here to take Dean’s place in the prophecy. He wants to father the child that is destined to rule Heaven. My first child.”

The Angel looked at her aghast. That could not happen, ever. Crowley would have power over the realms of both Heaven and Hell.

“He will have to get through me first Michaela. I will die protecting you before allowing him to touch you,” Castiel growled.

Mike jumped up and began to pace. “There is no need for that Castiel. I will not allow you to sacrifice yourself for me. No, I think I have an idea how we can get out of here but it will require your assistance. And I fear you may not like it.”

“My Queen, I am willing to do whatever it takes to ensure your safety. One day you will rule Heaven and your child will follow you onto the throne to reunite it into its former glory. You have only to command me.”

Michaela smiles softly, “I warn you Castiel, you will not like this. Crowley is here because he has discovered the prophecy and is intenton becoming the father to my first child in Dean’s place. The only way to derail these plans would be if I were already pregnant and unfortunately I am not. But I could be.”

Castiel cocked his head to the side and stared at her quizzically. “How is that possible? Dean is in Oregon. We cannot leave nor can we get him here, certainly not fast enough.”

Mike nodded, stopping to pet Captain and reassure him that she was ok. “I know that Dean is not an option. However you are,” she says, stopping and looking at the Angel. “Castiel, will you help me create my first child?”

The Angel stared at his Queen, mouth agape, stuttering and trying to force a coherent thought to the forefront of his mind. “Mike, do you realize what you are asking me? It is against Heaven’s law to have a child with a human. Not to mention, Dean would never forgive me!”

“Heaven’s law didn’t mean anything when Michael decided to impregnate my mother,” she growled angrily. “And as much as I love Dean, he’s going to have to understand the situation. He’s not here and like hell will I let Crowley come near me much less have his child.”

“Besides, I don’t think we’ll have to do this the traditional human way. I’m at least part Angel, which means we can procreate the way Angels do. We can create a fledgling using our Grace. Please, will you help me Castiel?”

The Angel had begun to pace the small room in the same way Mike had been before, running his fingers through his hair and forcing it to stand on end even more than usual. Dean was his best friend, and he knew he would see this as a betrayal. And yet, she was right that this would force Crowley’s hand.

The demon would be forced to pull back and regroup. If Crowley wanted to rule someday using their child as his pawn, he needed to make sure she was alive and well enough to have the child.

This was all too much for Castiel to process. He could feel Michaela changing into warm clothes on the other side of the room. Her calm demeanor belied the danger they were in, but it also told him that she was confident in the plan. She trusted him, and he would not let her down. They would create this fledgling that would bind them together forever, and pray that his best friend forgave him someday.

* * *

“I’ll do it.”

The Nephilim turned and looked at the Angel, nodding her head in acknowledgement.

“I have never created a fledgling but I am aware of what is required,” he replied, nervously rubbing the palms of his hands on his coat.

“Ok. I have a general idea but you’ll have to lead me through the specifics.”

“Very well. We don’t have much time. Are you ready to begin?”

Mike nodded at the Angel again, they were about to make a baby, so to speak, and yet he was still so formal. “Yeah Cas, let’s do this. What do we do first?”

“Take my hands. Concentrate on your Grace, gather its force and focus it. After a moment it should begin to react to mine. When you are ready, I will begin to recite the incantation,” Cas said, holding her hands firmly in his and preparing himself for what was about to happen.

This had to work. Creating a fledgling took a massive amount of power. If Crowley decided to fight anyway, even knowing he could no longer father Michaela’s first child, they would be weak and at a definite disadvantage.

Castiel began to recite a prayer in Enochian, asking for God’s blessing and intervention. He spoke the words needed to combine their Graces into a third independent entity. Their eyes slipped closed as they were pulled together and embraced, their heads resting on each other’s shoulders.

Golden bands of Grace materialized and swirled around them, wrapping, twisting, and knotting until it formed a tiny ball of light that would someday be a fledgling.

The miniscule sun rose up above them and the bands released their bodies, swirling now only around the light. The couple opened their eyes and stepped back, watching the ball stretch and spin and grow larger.

Finally the tiny sun seemed to almost solidify, before it suddenly stopped spinning and just hovered in space. After pausing for a moment, it suddenly rushed toward Michaela at lightning speed, shattering against her chest and absorbing into her body. It became one with her grace, enveloped within it, while still maintaining its own identity.

Michaela stumbled back in surprise and Castiel jumped forward to catch her. He gently guided her unconscious body to the ground, placing his palm on her forehead and verifying that she was just out cold. After a few moments, she gasped and jerked upright in surprise.

She glanced around, trying to get her bearings then allowed Castiel to help her up from the rug. Touching her chest where the sphere of light had entered her, she tried to focus on how she felt.

“Michaela are you well? Did it work?” Castiel asked.

She looked up at him, touching her fingers to her stomach and focusing her grace to take stock of her body. Everything seemed to check out normal until, there it was. She used her grace to analyze it and nudged it to verify it was ok.

She gasped when it nudged back, answering her and telling her it was fine. She felt a small movement and vibration, something she could almost imagine was a snuggle and a purr. Her fledgling was a separate life force, small but strong and vibrant.

Michaela took Castiel’s hand and pressed it to her stomach and watched his eyes widen as the tiny fledgling made itself known to its father. The pair looked at each other in wonder, realizing that they had done what should be impossible, a miracle. They had created new life with nothing but their Grace and a prayer.

Welcome to the world little one, Michaela thought. I will protect you with all that I am. But I’m afraid we must go into battle much sooner than I ever hoped.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic ever for any fandom, so any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated. Be honest, but gentle, with this newbie please! :) Hope you enjoy, I wrote it from the heart.


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